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THE   CHORDS    OF   LIFE 


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The  Chords  of  Life 


POEMS 


BY 


Charles  H.  Crandall 


By  the  heart  must  be  expended 
What  shall  work  upon  the  heart 

—  Goethe 


PRINTED  FOR  THE  AUTHOR 

SPRINGDALE,  CONN. 

1808. 


Copyright,  1897 

by 
CHARLES  H.  CRANDALL 


DEDICATED  TO  FOUR  LITTLE  LADS 

ARTHUR  —  ROBERT  —  ROLAND  —  CLARENCE 


M191871 


CONTENTS 


SOME  LONGER  POEMS 

The  Chords  of  Life II 

In  Nature's  Kindergarten  School  ...  12 

Love  Forever J3 

I  Asked  for  Beauty H 

A  Country  Town 1 5 

A  September  Gale 17 

The  Fall  of  the  Leaves 18 

In  Autumn-Tide 2I 

In  Snow  Time 24 

Lost  Melodies 25 

The  School  Teacher 27 

An  Easter  Picture 32 

Conscience 34 

To  Nature 37 

The  Record  of  Happiness 39 

Dutche  Towne  Girles 4° 

The  Beggar  Maid 43 

A  Hymn  to  Ponus 49 

Greeting  to  Stamford 5 l 

LYRICS  OF  LIFE 

Peace  Vale •  55 

Christmas  Emblems 5 6 

Instruments 5^ 

A  Farewell  to  Yesterday        57 

Where  Shall  We  Bury  Him  ?     ....  58 

The  Bridge 59 

Gerardia 6o 

"  Heimgang  " 6° 

The  Voyage 61 

The  Return  of  the  Ship 01 

Creeds 62 

The  Over-curtain 63 

5 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


City  Parks 64 

To  L.  E.  S.  and  E.  B.  S 64 

Birds  of  Passage 65 

The  Poet 65 

On  Fort  Greene 66 

When  This  Shall  Be  Dream      ....  67 

To-morrow 68 

The  Coming  Poet 69 

Argonauts 70 

To  James  Whitcomb  Riley 71 

To  a  Mouse  at  a  Ball 72 

The  Cycle 73 

Crossing  East  River  Bridge 74 

Quatrains 74 

Concord 75 

Thomas  Carlyle 76 

Requiem 77 

In  Memoriam 78 

SONGS  AND  LOVE  LYRICS 

Spring  Song 80 

Sweetheart,  Be  True 80 

Oh,  Look  From  Out  the  Starry  Skies     .  81 

An  Old-Fashioned  Song 82 

A  Meadow  Serenade 83 

A  Sea  Song 84 

When  Love  Doth  Lie  A-Dreaming     .     .  85 

Heart  to  Heart 85 

Angel  Heart 86 

With  Lilacs 86 

Capitulation 87 

Columbia 87 

A  Desire 88 

Her  Little  Foot 89 

Four  Guardsmen 90 

6 


CONTENTS 


The  Tryst 9° 

My  Riddle 92 

A  Gift  Too  Grand 93 

Sanctuary 94 

The  Music  Cure 95 

Love 96 

Among  the  Daisies 97 

At  Lake  George 98 

An  Evolution 99 

Crossing  Ontario 99 

A  Loving  Cup Io° 

A  Visit  from  the  Muse 100 

The  Offer 102 

SONNETS 

In  Midsummer IO3 

The  Sonnet's  Chime 103 

Asters  and  Goldenrod 104 

May  and  June IO4 

One  I  Know IO5 

Creasy's  Fifteen  Battles 106 

By  the  Burned  Dwelling 106 

Wilhelmj IO7 

Conscience IO7 

Often  I  Leave  Thee 108 

Mary  Anderson IQ8 

To  Venus IO9 

POEMS  OF  HOME-LIFE,  ETC. 

An  Hour  of  Song IIQ 

Old-Fashioned  Flowers i 1 l 

Our  Round  Table II2 

Lines IJ3 

Baby's  Paradise IT4 

To  a  Sparrow TI4 

7 


CONTENTS 


Trust 115 

A  Diamond 116 

Stella 116 

To  Clarise 117 

Two  Sisters 118 

A  Silver  Wedding 119 

A  Golden  Wedding 120 

Thanksgiving  Day 121 

The  Fresh  Air  Children 122 

Tick-Tock 122 

FARM  POEMS,  DIALECT,  ETC. 

Plowing 124 

A  Song  of  the  Drudge 128 

"  The  Last  Day  of  School" 130 

No  Paradise  for  Animals 133 

Jennie  B 134 

Driving  the  Colt 137 

Told  in  the  Basin 138 

The  Hornin' 143 

PATRIOTIC  VERSE 

Then  and  Now 146 

Washington 147 

Grant 148 

A  Knight  of  Gold 149 

Election  Day 150 

Cuba  Libre 150 

A  Soldier's  Song 152 

Progress 153 

At  Greeley's  Grave 154 

Integer  Vitae 155 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


Fair  Greenwich  (  Frontispiece ) 

Lost  Melodies  ("Adagio"  by  von  Hoessler}  25 

Ponus  Monument 49 

Rippowam  River 55 

The  Reaper 103 

An  Hour  of  Song no 


SOME   LONGER   POEMS 


THE  CHORDS  OF  LIFE 

OH,  touch  me  a  strain  on  the  Chords  of  Life, 
Careless,  and  fresh,  and  sweet ; 
For  youth  is  gazing  with  dewy  eye, 
And  a  bird  on  the  bough  sings  merrily, 

And  the  blossoms  fall  at  our  feet. 
Then  dance  and  carol  a  roundelay, 
Like  fairies  that  usher  a  feast  in  May, 
A  song  that's  fit  for  the  baby's  ear, 
While  the  lilies  shall  laugh  and  lean  to  hear 
What  the  zephyr  may  have  to  say. 
Touch  fleet ! 
Touch  sweet ! 
Like  fairies  that  feast  in  May. 

Oh,  strike  me  a  strain  on  the  Chords  of  Life, 

Martial,  and  strong,  and  brave ; 
As  the  gale  and  the  forest  in  glorious  strife, 

Or  the  storm-cloud  kissing  the  wave. 
For  life  is  at  noon  and  the  stress  is  sweet, 
And  we  march  to  the  sound  of  hurrying  feet ; 
A  time  for  doing,  a  time  for  wooing, 
In  hall  and  cottage  brave  hearts  are  suing ; 
There's  a  call  to  arms  in  the  lady's  glance, 
And  the  knight  rides  forth  with  level  lance. 
Then  sweep  the  strings  with  a  music  bold, 
Waken  the  songs  of  the  days  of  old, 

And  echo  them  o'er  the  land  ! 
Strike  strong ! 
Strike  long  ! 

Oh,  strike  with  a  kingly  hand ! 

Oh,  gently  now  on  the  Chords  of  Life, 

Gently,  and  sad,  and  slow ! 
Age  is  watching  the  paling  sky, 

ii 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


The  red  leaves  flutter  swiftly  by, 

And  the  back-log  smoulders  low. 
Glamor  of  childhood,  yet  more  deep, 
Comes  back  now  by  the  hearth  to  sleep ; 
Faintly  echoes  the  battle-call, 
The  sword  hangs  idly  on  the  wall; 
There's  a  patter  of  wolfish  feet 
Where  the  frost-pack  follows  fleet, 
And  we  sit  by  the  dreaming  fire  — 
Silence  our  one  desire. 

Strike  low  ! 
Strike  slow ! 
Silence  our  one  desire  ! 


IN  NATURE'S  KINDERGARTEN  SCHOOL 
T  N  Nature's  kindergarten  school 

I  gather  out  of  grass  and  dew  — 
Emblem  of  her  eternal  rule  — 
A  cup  and  saucer,  brown  of  hue. 

An  acorn  ?     Yes.     And  as  I  gaze, 

From  wheels  of  chariots,  spoke  on  spoke 

The  sunlight  falls  in  glittering  rays 
That  praise  the  product  of  the  oak  ! 

Heart  of  the  acorn  !     Heart  of  me ! 

Which  is  the  lesser,  which  more  blind  ? 
The  germ  that  longs  to  be  a  tree 

Or  I  who  yearn  toward  humankind  ? 

Whether  we  will  it  so  or  not, 

Time  teaches  both"  that  it  is  best 

To  long,  aspire  —  to  grasp  our  lot  — 
To  strive  and  surfer  —  and  to  rest. 

O  kindly  rule,  that,  of  the  seed, 

Imprisoned  in  its  brown  cup  shell, 
12 


IN  NATURE'S  KINDERGARTEN  SCHOOL 


Ne'er  asks  that  it  be  oak  or  reed, 
But  just  to  grow,  and  all  is  well ! 

O  sweet  content  in  lowly  ways, 

That  bids  the  soul  to  strike  no  note 

To  jar  with  unexacted  lays 

That  well  up  in  the  robin's  throat ! 

So  will  our  dream  of  dreams  come  true. 

From  seeds  we  cannot  see  to-day, 
Out  of  the  old  shall  come  the  new, 

Out  of  the  dark  the  morning  ray. 


Y 


LOVE  FOREVER 

'ES,  the  gods  are  dumb  and  dead, 

But  the  bobolink  sings  on  ! 
And  the  bluebird,  overhead, 
Pipes  his  joy  when  Day  has  won 
Fair  Aurora's  blushing  face, 
Hidden  in  a  cloudy  lace. 
While  the  pipe  of  Pan  is  still, 
Let  the  new  world  have  its  will ! 
Listen  to  the  robin's  playing, 
On  the  maple's  top  a-swaying, 
Ah,  so  proud  of  that  one  nest,  — 
Puffing  out  his  scarlet  vest, — 
Piper  of  the  dress  parade 
In  sunrise  glow  or  twilight  shade. 

Yes,  the  gods  are  dumb  and  dead ; 
Never  naiad  from  the  rushes 
Shrieks  at  panting  faun  that  pushes 
Through  the  bushes  where  she  sped. 
But  a  maid  can  charm  us  now, 
Sitting  'neath  the  apple  bough, 
Where  the  snowy  blossoms  flying 

13 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Mingle  with  the  music  sighing, 
And  the  petals  of  her  song 
By  the  breeze  are  borne  along. 
Lovers  by  the  trysting  tree 
Care  not  if  they  never  see 
Chaste  Diana  on  the  lea  ; 
Roaming  round  the  firefly  camp 
They  shall  covet  not  the  lamp 
Psyche  carried  through  the  damp. 

Whispering  to  his  bashful  love, 
Every  lover  seems  a  Jove, 
Stooping  from  some  sphere  above. 
So  the  maiden  in  the  morn 
Seemeth  to  the  swain,  love-lorn, 
Venus,  from  the  sea,  new-born  ! 
What  if  gods  are  dumb  and  dead, 
So  that  Love  lives  on  instead, 
And  the  roses  touch  and  wed  ? 


I  ASKED  FOR  BEAUTY 

I   ASKED  for  Beauty,  and  heard  reply, 
"  There's  naught  so  far,  there's  naught  so 
nigh." 

I  prayed  to  Beauty,  and  she  was  kind ; 
She  gave  me  seeing,  who  erst  was  blind. 

Her  rays,  reflected,  all  things  did  dart 
Through  eye  and  ear,  through  mind  and  heart. 

I  said,  Sweet  spirit,  some  gift  I'd  give. 
"  I  ask  no  gift  but  the  life  you  live." 

Then  rest  you,  Beauty,  nor  journey  afar. 
"  Each  night  I  fly  from  the  farthest  star." 

14 


I  ASKED   FOR  BEAUTY 


Yet,  near  us,  sometimes,  are  you  hid  ? 
"  Perhaps  I  sleep  'neath  a  coffin  lid." 

But  oft  you  vanish  in  cloud  that  clings. 
"  The  pure  in  heart  shall  see  all  things." 

Know  you  of  Goodness,  of  Truth,  and  Love? 
"  They  climb  the  stair  to  the  One  above." 

Why,  of  the  sisters,  are  you  most  fair? 
"  Their  blended  grace  is  the  robe  I  wear." 

This  heart,  all  melted,  your  slave  will  be ! 
"  Nay,  I  have  loved  you,  and  made  you  free." 


A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

(Greenwich,  N.  Y.) 

SWEET  Auburn,  loveliest  village  of  the  plain !  " 
Thus    Goldsmith   sang   in    ever-beauteous 

strain  ; 

Nor  can  I  sing  —  without  a  throb  that  thrills  — 
My  native  village  in  the  northern  hills, 
Round  which  Ondawa  loves  to  sweetly  linger, 
Wearing  her  weirs  like  gems  upon  her  finger. 
Oft  have  I  paused  upon  the  bridge  to  note 
The  spray  from  many  a  cataract  upfloat. 
Veiling  like  incense  now  the  village  spires, 
Lifting  up,  too,  the  loiterer's  desires. 
Often  again  where  silent  stretches  sweep, 
Telling  where  waters  journey  still  and  deep, 
Gladly  I've  watched  the  bass  among  the  rocks, 
Or,  in  the  water,  seen  the  fleecy  flocks 
Of  those  blue  heavens  journeying  along  — 
Fair  as  a  love  thought  mirrored  in  a  song ! 

While  the  stout  yeomen  bind  the  bearded  grain, 
Or  through  thy  valleys  drive  the  loaded  wain ; 

15 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


While  the  white  sheep  take  their  reluctant  way 
Down  to  thy  ponds,  each  annual  washing  day  ; 
While  thy  proud  steeds  uplift  the  neigh  that 

thrills  ; 

While  low  thy  cattle  on  thy  thousand  hills  ; 
While    from    thy    whirring   wheels    and    spindles 

come 

The  welcome  sounds  of  labor's  busy  hum  ; 
While    laddie's    shout    meets    answering    lassie's 

smile, 

In  happy  comradeship  that  knows  no  guile  ; 
While  in  thy  schools  is  lit  the  inspiring  flame 
Of  emulation  on  the  road  to  fame  ; 
While  from  thy  churches  float  upon  the  air 
Thy  people's  voices,  blended  song  and  prayer, 
There  is  no  need  my  pen  thy  charms  should  tell  — 
Thy  beauties  praise  thee,  and  they  praise  thee  well ! 

On  Willard's  Mount  the  patriot  eye  may  see 
The  beacons  blaze  again  for  liberty ; 
Again  the  guns  of  Saratoga  boom, 
A  nation's  birth-hour  and  a  tyrant's  doom  ! 
As  hills  and  vales  and  streamlets  rise  again 
In  fair  mirage  on  Memory's  misty  plain, 
Often  the  wanderer's  mind  will  speak  thy  name 
To  conjure  up  Youth's  lost,  bewitching  flame  ; 
Oft  will  the  fancy  of  the  rover  think 
He  drinks  thy  streamlets,  bending  to  the  brink  ; 
Or  stealing,  stealthy,  to  some  tortuous  glen, 
Spies  where  the  wily  trout  doth  make  his  den ; 
Or  when  the  stream,  in  icy  armor  dight, 
Calls  youth  and  maidens  in  the  glittering  night, 
Then  shall  he  don  the  swiftly  gliding  steel 
And  all  of  romance,  all  of  beauty  feel. 

What  matters  if  thy  name  be  writ  in  books  ? 
Thy  mountains  praise  thee  and  thy  pearly  brooks. 
16 


A    COUNTRY   TOWN 


Little  can  man  add  to  thy  royal  share 

Whom  God  and  Nature  made  so  passing  fair. 

Only  for  us  to  learn  the  lesson  well  — 

No  weirs  can  glisten  in  a  streamless  dell, 

No  mill-wheels  turn  unless  the  stream  shall  flow, 

Nor  river  run  unless  the  forests  grow. 

The  Hudson  rises  in  each  tiny  spring 

That  to  its  bosom  gives  an  offering  ; 

And  civic  greatness  has  no  other  start 

Than  simple  virtue  in  each  single  heart. 


SEPTEMBER  GALE 

WOOPING  over  the  corn-fields, 

Blowing  their  tepees  awry, 
hirling  the  crows  in  hundreds, 
Like  leaves,  against  the  sky, 
Veering  and  beating  and  darting  — 
Would  that  I,  too,  might  fly  ! 


Over  the  uplands  together, 
Wander  at  will  and  sing  ! 

This  is  the  care- free  weather  — 
Make  the  blue  welkin  ring  ! 

For  the  gale  has  broken  its  tether, 
And  the  wind  is  a  living  thing  ! 


Towns  and  cities  and  peoples 

Helpless  lie  in  thy  way. 
Shake  all  their  towers  and  steeples, 

Strain  every  topmast  and  stay, 
Blow  all  our  poor  human  error 

Far  o'er  the  buffeted  bay ! 

17 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Roar,  thou  viking  of  heaven  ! 

Whistle  thy  songs  uncouth  ; 
Drive  back  the  dallying  breezes 

Into  the  lap  of  the  South  ; 
Start  all  the  forest  to  war  tunes 

With  blasts  from  thy  mighty  mouth. 

Aye,  walls  and  chimneys  must  crumble, 
And  people  but  haste  to  decay ; 

The  kingdoms  totter  and  tumble 

And  are  blown  with  a  storm  breath  away ; 

So,  with  roar  and  laughter  and  rumble, 
Ride  on,  thou  king  of  a  day  ! 

Yea,  I  am  thy  subject,  as  loyal 

As  the  asters  that  bend  in  thy  path, 

And  the  goldenrod  —  messengers  royal  — 
Or  scent  of  the  late  aftermath. 

I  fill  my  lungs  at  thy  bellows 

And  share  in  thy  boisterous  wrath. 

My  arms  are  spread  like  the  oak  tree 
To  welcome  thy  lusty  embrace  ; 

I  scud  with  the  gusts,  bareheaded, 
And  exult  in  thy  glorious  race  ; 

For  the  autumn  wind  is  my  lover, 
And  I  welcome  him,  face  to  face. 


THE    FALL    OF    THE    LEAVES 

(An  Autumn  Reverie.) 

ORNE  on  the  breath  of  morn, 

Wafted  by  winds  of  night, 
Idying  here, 
Scattering  there, 
Leaving  the  boughs  forlorn, 
18 


THE   FALL    OF   THE   LEAVES 


Making  the  hollows  bright, 
Mother  Earth  calling 
Them  to  their  falling  — 
Falling  leaves ! 

Hark  to  their  music  sweet; 
Sweet  and  sad  as  they  pass 
Through  the  thick  web 
Of  twigs  overhead, 
Tinkling  on  boughs  they  meet, 
Raining  down  on  the  grass, 
Gleaming  so  brightly, 
Dropping  so  lightly  — 
Watch  the  leaves ! 

Sadly  the  gray  sky  grieves 
O'er  the  summer  fallen  and  dead  ; 
And  the  north  wind  rough, 
Takes  the  beautiful  woof, 
And  into  the  dry  grass  weaves 
A  carpet  a  king  might  tread. 
From  mountain  to  strand, 
All  over  the  land, — 
Falling  leaves ! 

Like  a  flock  of  bright-winged  birds 

They  are  fluttering  down  from  the  trees, 

Never  again  to  fly 

Their  beauty  in  the  sky. 

Never  again  will  be  heard 

Their  song  on  the  wandering  breeze, 

Soothing  the  souls  of  men, 

Whispering  over  again 

Message  sweet. 

Yet  other  leaves  will  come, 
And  glow,  and  fade,  and  fall ; 
And  other  eyes  shall  see 
Their  beauty  on  the  tree, 

19 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


And  the  maidens  bring  them  home 
To  deck  the  cottage  wall ; 
While  over  the  lawn 
The  children  run, 
Tossing  the  leaves  — 
Happy  leaves  ! 

They  fall  like  the  tribes  of  men, 
As  they  hurry  down  to  their  graves ; 
Beaten  by  every  blast, 
They  sink  to  their  rest  at  last ; 
And  they  never  will  live  again, 
Vanished  to  mix  with  the  leaves 
That  through  the  long  years 
Have  fallen  like  tears  — 
Nature's  tears. 

And  still  come  the  airy  hosts, 
Pouring  their  strength  on  the  ground. 
Soon  they  will  be  at  rest, 
Close  in  their  dark  graves  prest; 
Yet  a  few,  in  the  winter,  like  ghosts, 
Will  fly  with  a  rustling  sound 
Round  the  safe  dwelling, 
Their  mournful  tale  telling  — 
Withered  leaves  ! 

I  think  o'er  the  fall  of  friends 
As  I  muse  o'er  the  fall  of  the  year ; 
And  the  air  is  filled 
With  the  thoughts  distilled, 
And  my  song  of  the  autumn  ends, 
And  I  mark  the  close  with  a  tear, 
Then  fling  my  pen  far  away, 
And  all  the  rest  of  the  day 
Watch  the  leaves, 
Falling  leaves. 
20 


AUTUMN-TIDE 


AUTUMN-TIDE 

UP  !  Away  from  toil  and  care, 
While  the  frost  is  in  the  air 
Send  the  sluggard,  Sleep,  away, 
Do  not  fear  his  overstay. 
Hurry,  or  we  miss  the  morning 
Helios  is  now  adorning. 
See,  he  shakes  his  golden  head 
As  he  rises  from  his  bed  ! 
Ah  !     His  pillow  was  a  hill, 
Fringed  with  silver  at  his  will, 
And  the  clouds  he  had  for  cover 
Golden-canopied  him  over ! 
Speed,  thou  ruler  of  the  day, 
We,  too,  shall  be  bright  and  gay  ! 
To  the  future,  future  cast, 
To  oblivion  the  past. 
For  to-day  we'll  lose  ourselves 
And  be  like  the  fays  and  elves ; 
Caring  not  for  latitude, 
We  shall  make  our  home  the  wood. 


Let  your  dress  be  light  and  airy, 

So  they'll  take  you  for  a  fairy, 

And  my  cloak,  too,  shall  be  humble, 

Ready  for  a  roll  or  tumble. 

Lightly  o'er  the  meadows  pass, 

Brushing  hoar-frost  from  the  grass,  — 

Leaping  o'er  the  orchard  walls, 

Where  the  fragrant  fruitage  falls, 

Lying  ruddy  at  our  feet, 

Making  all  the  region  sweet. 

See !  a  hearth  smoke  stains  the  sky, 

And  a  milkmaid,  tripping  by, 

Musically  calls  the  kine 

Where  they  stand  in  patient  line, 

21 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Waiting  till  she  drops  the  bars. 
Now  a  horn  the  silence  mars, 
And  a  house-dog's  deep  alarm 
Sounds  across  from  yonder  farm. 

But  away,  away  from  these ; 
Our  companions  are  the  trees. 
We  shall  find  the  talking  oak 
And  the  burning  bush  that  spoke. 
We  will  argue  with  the  rills, 
Hold  communion  with  the  hills, 
See  the  Autumn's  warm  desires 
Burning  in  her  mountain  fires. 
Aught  but  Nature's  foreign  land, 
Men  we  cannot  understand  ; 
For  we  are  as  newly  born 
And  to-day's  our  natal  morn. 
Featly  now  we  clear  the  stiles, 
Press,  unweary,  on  for  miles, 
Where  yon  forest-garnished  dome 
Smiles  and  beckons,  saying,  "  Come  !  " 

Now  the  mountains  lock  us  round, 
And  one  scarce  can  hear  a  sound 
That  the  solitude  dispels, 
Save  the  tinkle  of  the  bells, 
Where  the  woolly  legions  stray 
Round  the  sheepfold,  far  away. 
In  this  hill-encircled  valley 
All  the  nymphs  and  naiads  rally; 
And  unless  our  eyes  are  stupid 
We  shall  get  a  glimpse  of  Cupid 
Sleeping  on  his  golden  bow  — 
Psyche  o'er  him  bending  low. 
Only  yonder  is  the  shade 
Where  the  coy  Sabbrina  strayed. 
22 


AUTUMN-TIDE 


She  has  left  some  lilies  there, 

Where  she  lately  decked  her  hair. 

Listen !  that  is  Pan,  indeed  ! 

Don't  you  recognize  the  reed  ? 

Seeking  wood-sprites?     Here  you  find  them, 

Casting  saucy  looks  behind  them, 

Throwing  chestnuts  —  aren't  they  jolly  ? 

Give  them  volley  back  for  volley  ! 

There  they  frolic  in  yon  hollow. 

Up  !     Away,  and  quickly  follow. 

Let  us  rest  upon  the  leaves, 
Listen  while  the  brooklet  grieves. 
Watch  the  waves,  with  leaves  at  play, 
Eddy,  plunge,  and  whirl  away; 
Note  the  hawk,  with  restless  eye, 
Draw  his  circles  on  the  sky. 
What's  this  clamor  now  that  greets  ? 
'Tis  the  crows  in  airy  fleets 
Convoyed  by  their  wisest  bird, 
His  ragged  pinions  faintly  heard. 
Now  has  died  their  carping  din, 
And  like  some  great  strange  violin, 
The  wind  draws  on  the  pine  his  bow, 
And  makes  a  music,  sweet  and  low. 

Come  !     A  charge  at  yonder  hill ! 
We'll  take  the  fortress  with  a  will. 
Ranks  of  hickory,  birch,  and  oak 
At  our  onslaught  quickly  broke  ! 
We  have  gained  the  mountain  crest, 
And  have  earned  our  glorious  rest. 
Clouds,  that  journey  through  the  blue, 
Take  our  thoughts  along  with  you ; 
Winds,  that  now  our  temples  greet, 
Bring  them  back  as  pure  and  sweet. 

23 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Fill  the  lungs  and  bare  the  head, 
The  world  is  live  that  late  was  dead. 
Now  for  greater  views  of  life, 
Now  new  courage  for  its  strife. 
From  your  eye  dismiss  the  mote, 
Let  your  soul  outgrow  your  coat. 
Then  the  cataract  that  calls 
From  Diondehowa's  Falls, 
Stream  and  lake  and  distant  hill, 
Surpliced  mountain  peaks  that  fill 
Priestly  office,  sky  and  cloud 
Shall  whisper,  sing,  and  speak  aloud ; 
Call  and  echo,  still,  again  : 
Benediction  and  Amen. 


IN  SNOW  TIME 

Jf  I  ^WAS  sung  by  a  poet  of  long  ago, 

The  grace  and  the  charm  of  the  "  Beauti 
ful  Snow," 

Yet  who  the  poet  was  none  may  know. 
For  the  snow  that  falleth  so  soft  and  deep, 
Safe  from  our  eyes  its  poet  doth  keep, 
Wrapped  in  oblivion,  fast  asleep  ! 
Yet,  who  would  not,  when  the  north  winds  blow, 
Sleep  with  the  violets,  safe  and  low, 
Lulled  and  hushed  by  the  motherly  snow  ? 
So  I  think  as  the  flakes  go  by, 
White  as  angels,  down  from  the  sky, 
Folded  safe  in  the  fields  to  lie, 
A  peace  comes  down  with  the  winter's  white 
That  seems  to  set  all  the  old  world  right, 
A  charity,  pure,  and  wide,  and  bright. 
Then  there  comes  in  the  taste  of  the  air, 
A  zest  and  sparkle  that's  sweet  and  rare, 
That  draws  the  stings  and  the  hurts  of  care. 
24 


"LOST   MELODIES." 


IN  SNOW   TIME 


The  woods  are  a  forest  of  coral  white, 

The  fences  are  Alps  of  mimic  height, 

With  crests  and  arabesques  all  bedight ! 

Glows  then  gather  in  evening's  skies, 

Hints  of  the  soul's  divine  emprise, 

So  soft  and  blending  the  color  lies; 

Lavender,  gray,  and  purple  hues, 

Gold  and  ruby,  the  west  suffuse, 

Rarer  than  ever  in  summer's  dews. 

What  though  the  diamond  melts  as  it  warms, 

Now,  on  my  hand,  yet  the  beautiful  forms 

Tell  of  the  wealth  of  the  God  of  storms  ! 

Thus  the  flakes  that  softly  alight, 

Turning  the  earth  to  a  faery  sight, 

Tell  of  a  power  to  make  pure  and  white 

Even  the  souls  in  the  thrall  of  sin, 

Bidding  His  white  peace  enter  in, 

Bidding  His  reign  of  love  begin. 

So  it  is,  when  I  hear  the  sound 

Of  merry  sleigh-bells  echoing  round, 

That  the  earth  still  smiles,  though  snowy  gowned ! 

And  I  say  with  reverence,  whispered  low,  — 

Say  with  the  poet  of  years  ago, — 

Beautiful,  beautiful,  beautiful  snow  ! 


LOST    MELODIES 

"\  7"OU   who  have    heard  a  world-loved  singer 
j[  winging 

On  white,  clear  tones  up  to  the  arch  of  Joy, 
Oh,  wonder  now  what  may  have  been  her  singing 
When,  all  alone,  and  free  from  all  annoy, 
On  some  still  morning's  air 
She  opened  up  her  heart, 
Singing  beyond  compare, 
Forgetting  it  was  art ! 

25 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Not  to  be  courted  in  the  crowded  street, 
But  shyly,  to  the  artist  comes  his  Art. 
No  tongue  must  tell  to  common  ears  how  sweet 
Her  smile  can  be  when  they  withdraw  apart. 
The  minstrel's  highest  songs 

Are  sung  to  skies  and  hills  ; 
He  unto  Song  belongs, 
But  Song  flies  as  she  wills. 

Ah,  when  a  strain  is  struggling  in  the  heart, 

Then  bursts  and  wings  in  melody  divine, — 
Who'll  catch  the  truant,  once  it  has  a  start  ? 

Let  loose  the  falcon  Thought !    It  maybe  thine  ! 
Bribe  Echo  for  its  trail, 

And  harness  Fancy's  feet! 
Seek  out  this  latest  Grail 

With  love  than  life  more  fleet ! 

I  asked  the  Wind  which  way  the  vision  vanished, 

I  prayed  the  Stars  to  gild  its  flying  track, 
I  braved  the  Sun,  and  cried :  Why  is  it  vanished  ? 
Their  sad,  blank  faces  drave  my  question  back. 
Who  seeks  the  lost  Ideal  — 

A  bird  bred  not  for  cages  ? 
It  tempts  us  toward  the  Real, 
In  footsteps  of  the  sages. 

Lost  Friend !     A  melody  lost  in  a  Friend  ! 

Thou  art  but  as  a  lure  to  guide  my  groping; 
Out  of  this  labyrinth  to  give  me  trend 
Unto  a  realm  of  seeing,  knowing,  hoping. 
So  swiftly  thou  didst  flee 

To  leave  to  me  for  dower 
Hints  in  each  wayside  tree, 
Beckonings  in  each  flower. 

And  benison  of  little  baby  faces 

Drops  from  the  skies  on  spirits  who  have  known, 

26 


LOST  MELODIES 


Bound  up  in  miniature,  all  the  skyey  graces, 
Printed  by  Love,  in  hidden  vigils  lone. 
Ah,  when  the  lisping  tongue 

The  last  dear  word  had  spoken  ! 
O  little  heart  unstrung  ! 

O  baby  harp  that's  broken ! 

Lost  Song,  lost  Dream,  lost  Friend,  lost  Baby  fin 
gers, — 

Shrined  in  a  realm  elusive,  strangely  near, — 
Why  chide  one  who,  a  prisoner,  still  lingers, 

Shut   by  the  "  dead-line  "  from   your    freedom 
dear? 

Yet,  dreaming  how  you  roam, 

Our  steps  may  grow  the  fleeter 
To  seek  the  mystic  home 

Whose  welcome  you  make  sweeter. 


THE    SCHOOL   TEACHER 
A      MISSION  sought  her  in  the  crowded  town ; 
/\     A  call  to  service,  like  a  draft  to  arms. 
So,  following  Duty  to  the  high  brick  walls, 
Where  children's  voices   hummed  like    hives   of 

bees, 

She  gave  her  life  to  them,  and  so  denied 
A  throng  of  pleasures  tempting  her  away  ; 
Still  followed  cheerily,  although  she  knew 
Necessity  trod  close  on  Duty's  steps. 
So,  oft,  Necessity  will  stretch  one  hand, 
And  hide,  for  shame,  the  other  at  her  back ! 

A  patient  captain  with  her  raw  recruits, — 
And  some  unkempt,  not  tidy  to  her  taste, — 
She  taught  the  manual  of  mental  arms, 
The  subtle  difference  betwixt  "  ayes  "  and  "  ahs," 

27 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


How  to  subdue  the  coltish  verbs  and  nouns, 
And  learn  the  tricks  of  crooked  3's  and  8's, 
Those  slippery  clowns  that  sport  upon  the  slate, 
And  tangle  up  the  tender  brain  of  youth. 

So  oft  she  told  the  story  of  the  world, 

Or  outlined  all  its  oceans,  islands,  streams; 

Its  divers  towns  from  Schaghticoke  to  Rome ; 

It  seemed,  sometimes,  the  earth  had  really  changed, 

And  all  become  a  stupid,  tiresome  map 

To  weary  her  and  little  children's  lives. 

Oft,    when    the    schoolroom    babble    reached   its 

height, 

And  small,  galvanic  limbs  beat  restlessly 
Upon  the  wooden  desks  or  dusty  floor, 
And  every  face  looked  mischief,  she  would  trace 
The  old  Darwinian  theory  back,  and  see, 
Instead  of  children  with  immortal  souls, 
A  horde  of  chattering  monkeys  mocking  her! 

Yet  every  morn  she  girt  her  patience  up, 

And  as  she  leaned  her  head  above  her  desk 

In  hour  of  prayer,  like  a  fresh  flower  she  seemed, 

And  even  the  children  gazed  in  wonderment. 

Sometimes  in  sheer  despair  she  overthrew 

The  bald,  poor  scheme  of  school  curriculum, 

And  told  the  children  stories  of  the  stars  — 

Of  the  lost  Pleiad,  of  Orion's  chase, 

The  throng  of  sister  planets,  suns  on  suns, 

That  rush  the  light  across  the  universe 

Like  torch-bearers,  incredible  of  speed. 

She  made  them    seek    at  night  the    great    north 

«  Bear," 

And  make  the  "  Bear  "  point  out  the  polar  star, 
And  then  she'd  watch  the  wonder  in  their  eyes 
Reflected  at  the  tale  of  other  stars 
28 


THE   SCHOOL    TEACHER 


They    ne'er    might    see,    the    lovely   "  Southern 

Cross," 

The  shrine  of  far,  sub-equatorial  skies, 
Which  flames  upon  that  southern  hemisphere. 
So  would  she  break  the  crust  of  hard  routine 
To  get  the  better  yield  ;    sometimes  a  prize 
Would  offer  for  a  bit  of  handiwork, 
For  one  who  made  for  her  the  smoothest  rule 
Or  best  embroidered  on  a  bit  of  silk. 
Sometimes  the  room  would  be  transfigured.    Then 
The  little  faces  glowed  with  tenderness, 
And  looking  through  the  dross  of  little  forms 
She  saw  their  souls,  their  possibilities, 
And  thinking  of  the  battle  and  the  stress 
That  soon  would  challenge  all  these  little  hearts, 
She  prayed  anew  for  strength  to  lead  them  on  — 
On  in  the  ways  of  health  and  noble  use, 
On  in  the  ways  of  fearless  truth  and  right, 
On  to  a  goal  of  joy  and  perfect  peace. 

Then,  too,  the  chord  of  precious  sympathy, 
Reacting,  sought  the  teacher  from  the  child, 
For  even  careless  youth  could  not  but  note 
The  patient  virtue  of  the  one  that  taught. 
In  that  soft  beam  when  eye  met  tender  eye 
Was  often  forged  a  bond  affectionate, 
Of  endless  debt  and  unpaid  sacrifice, 
Peculiar  tie,  that  ever  must  exist 
Between  the  child  and  teacher.     Hardly  they, 
The  fledglings  of  the  high,  bleak  city  walls, 
Could  guess,  however,  that  the  lovely  charm, 
That   sometimes  lit  her   brow  and    changed  her 

smile 

Into  a  radiant  light  for  all  the  room, 
Was  but  some  memory  of  her  country  home, 
The  peace  of  mountains,  forest,  field,  and  stream, 
That  shone  reflected  in  her  chastened  face. 

29 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Each  year  a  new  brood  sped,  a  new  came  in 
Each  year  her  feet  and  all  those  little  ones 
Wore  deepening  hollows  in  the  threshold  stone. 
But  still  she  kept  her  steadfast  courage  up 
As  if  she  knew  her  work  was  blessed  of  God, 
And  trusted  Him  in  full  to  do  His  part. 

She  welcomed  all  the  welcome  Saturdays 

Brief  respite  —  and  the  Sabbath's  island  calm. 
Perchance,  with  friends,  one  evening  in  a  week, 
She  stole  a  night  for  concert,  lecture,  play, 
Aught  to  refresh,  as  if,  her  mind  a  slate, 
She  needs  must  sponge  it,  sometimes,  clear  of  care. 
And  when  the  clover  reddened  in  the  fields 
Up  at  her  northern  home,  and  school  was  done, 
She  hurried  there  to  spend  her  well-earned  rest. 
Out  in  the  fields  she  raked  the  fragrant  hay, 
Or  trained  the  hollyhocks,  or  climbed  the  hills, 
And  in  the  shadow  of  some  mighty  rock, 
Or  where  a  stream  sang  underneath  the  trees, 
Would  read  some  restful  book  or  poet's  song 
And  dream   of   days  when  school  would   be  no 
more. 

A  life  monotonous  !     Yet  memory 
Had  still  a  day  to  reckon  from,  to  light 
Her  after  skies  with  mingled  cloud  and  sun. 
It  was  one  winter  when  the  holidays 
Were  just  o'erpast,  a  man  came  seeking  her  — 
As  men  have  ever  gone  a-seeking  wives, 
More  apt  to  magnify  their  own  desert 
Than  to  appreciate  the  boon  they  ask. 
He  was  a  worthy  man,  a  proper  man  — 
They  oft  had  met  in  church  or  Sunday  school  — 
His  manners  not  unkind,  if  sometimes  rude. 
Could  she  have  loved  an  ordinary  heart, 
Just  useful,  not  romantic  in  the  least, — 
Still  manly,  fair,  and  generous  to  provide, — 
30 


THE   SCHOOL    TEACHER 


She  might  have  stepped  as  from  a  toilsome  path 
Into  a  carriage,  and  have  toiled  no  more ; 
But  been  the  mistress  of  a  good,  snug  house 
And  even  the  ruler  of  her  husband's  heart. 
But  as  he  wooed,  in  blunt,  frank,  tradesman  way, 
She  seemed  to  hear  her  children  calling  her  — 
Her  hundred  children  in  the  crowded  school  — 
And  so  with  trembling  heart  she  put  him  off ! 


How  strange  it  was  that  on  that  very  day, 

As  she  walked  out  at  eve  to  cool  her  brow, 

She  heard  a  shout,  and  saw  a  crowded  car, 

Rounding  the  curve,  bear  down  upon  a  boy, 

A  curly-headed  child  of  Italy, 

Who  stood  still,  dazed,  unknowing  how  to  move. 

Then  she  sprang  like  a  deer  and  thrust  him  so 

That,  while  he  fell  outside  the  farther  rail, 

Her  own  brave  impulse  carried  her  too  far. 

There  was  a  grinding  shock  upon  her  foot  — 

And  then  the  ambulance  —  the  hospital. 

When  after  many  weeks  she  left  the  ward  — 

White  cots,  white  faces,  and  white-aproned  girls  — 

The  doctor  told  her  she  "  must  have  a  cane." 

u '  Twill  be  a  good  thing,"  said  he  merrily, 

"  To  beat  off  men  that  bother  pretty  girls." 

So,  when  her  wooer  came  again  to  woo, 

She  smiled  and  said  she'd  found  a  new  support  — 

Her  cane — he   would    not    want    a   poor,    lame 

wife  — 

The  school  was  but  a  few  short  blocks  away  — 
She   well  could  walk   it,    with    her    good    stout 

cane  — 

Then  all  her  children  seemed  to  love  her  so  — 
The  little  lad  she  saved  was  one  of  them  — 
So  —  he  was  kind,  and  she,  perhaps,  was  wrong  — 
But  —  she  made  choice  to  give  her  life  —  to  them. 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Back   to  her  school  she  limped  the  well-known 

way, 
And  to  the  other  teachers  gaily  cried  :  — 

"  See,  I  have  found  a  husband  —  my  good  cane 

So  many  women  marry  just  '  poor  sticks  ' !  " 
Thus,  self-denied  the  safety  of  the  wife, 
Renouncing  all  the  joy  of  motherhood, 
She  made  her  lonely  pathway  bloom  again 
With  flowers  of  sympathy  for  other  lives. 
Tongues  could  but  stammer,  eyes  grow  dim  with 

tears, 

Recounting  all  the  good  deeds  that  she  did, 
While  even  her  face  seemed  like  a  lovely  flower 
That  haunted  long  the  invalid's  abode. 
So,  in  the  busy  current  of  the  town, 
Part  of  its  endless  pathos,  endless  life, 
Unknown,  perhaps,  to  rich,  or  wise,  or  great, 
The  Teacher  took  her  place  and  held  her  rank 
In  that  stout  army  of  unselfish  souls 
Whose  lives  rebloom  again  in  other  lives, 
And  even  on  earth  win  immortality. 


AN    EASTER    PICTURE 

BRIGHT  breaks  the  Easter  Morn  on  verdant 
fields 

And  leaves  almost  put  out,  while  'neath  the  ground, 
Warmed  by  the  wooing  of  the  southern  sun, 
The  tender  roots  of  roses  yet  to  blush 
Thrill  with  glad  life  and  urge  to  blossoming. 
The  cheery  birds  are  twittering  in  the  trees, 
And  saying  in  their  sweetly  foreign  speech: 
"  Is  it  not  strangely  beautiful  —  this  day? 
Surely  on  such  a  morn  men  will  put  off 
Their   looks    of   grief    and    care,    their    wrinkles 
smooth, 

32 


AN  EASTER   PICTURE 


And  gaze  with  reverent  wonder  up  to  heaven 
As  in  their  childhood.     Now  a  goodly  sight 
See  coming  through  the  interlacing  streets  — - 
Old  men  and  matrons,  youth  and  maidens  fair, 
And  children,  happy  with  their  wealth  of  life. 
For  all  are  neatly  dressed,  and  all  bear  flowers, 
And  as  they  meet  and  pass,  with  gladsome  mien, 
They  seem  to  pass  the  greeting  of  the  East, 
Saying  to  all  they  meet :  "  The  Lord  is  risen!  " 
Or  answering :  "  Yea,  the  Lord  is  risen  indeed"" 

The  high  church  bells  are  pealing  forth  their  joy, 
While  all  the  radiant  windows,  set  ajar, 
Breathe  out  the  incense  and  the  sweet  perfume 
Of  lilies  massed,  and  banks  of  violets 
Set  round  the  altar.     Now,  through  wide-thrown 

doors, 

And  up  the  aisles,  with  reverential  tread, 
The  people  move,  with  one  desire  and  thought, 
While  from  the  sculptured  organ's  harmony 
Swells  out  a  holy  music,  scarce  perceived, 
It  finds  such  fitting  concord  in  the  heart. 
Then,  too,  are  heard  the  muttered  words  of  prayer, 
The  simple  lesson  from  the  wondrous  book, 
And  sacred  chants,  and  choruses  of  praise ; 
On  bended  heads  the  benediction  falls  — 
The  peaceful  multitude  regain  their  homes. 

So  glides  the  radiant  Resurrection  Morn, 
And  thus  two  thousand  others,  too,  have  passed, 
And  still  the  Wonder  of  the  world  is  fresh, 
And  still  the  children  smile  away  our  doubt, 
And  still  the  stars  and  blossoms  whisper  faith. 
For  Death  at  worst  is  but  a  truce  with  Life, 
And  Love  is  ever  mighter  than  Hate. 
What  though  my  thought,  untired,  wings  its  way 
Back  to  that  Garden  Scene,  unable  still 

33 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


To  comprehend  the  great  reality 

The  broken  tomb,  the  risen,  regnant  Lord? 
Yet  pity,  pity  on  the  hapless  man 
To  whom  this  day  has  not  a  lesson  brought, 
Lifted  up  nearer  to  the  Source  of  Peace, 
From  whom  we  are,  to  whom  we  flow  again. 


CONSCIENCE 

AMID  the  rural  scenes  where  I  was  born, 
Often,  as  fancy  led  my  boyish  feet, 
I  used  to  stray  beside  a  mountain  stream, 
Which,  after  winding  'round  among  the  hills, 
And  chafing  against  rocks,  and  tumbling  down 
In  cataracts  till  it  was  vexed  to  foam, 
Passed  at  a  restful  pace  through  quiet  woods, 
Whose   shadows  cooled    its   tide   from   shore   to 

shore, 

Until  its  former  labor  seemed  forgot, 
And  all  its  deep,  dark  channel  charmed  to  peace. 
At  last,  the  river  left  its  leafy  friends, 
Ran  brightly  underneath  a  little  bridge, 
And  widened  far  away  among  the  fields, 
Finding  a  thousand  ways  of  doing  good ; 
So  journeyed  on  in  silence  to  the  sea. 

Long  years  have  passed  since  last  I  strolled  beside 
This  murmuring  daughter  of  the  mountain  springs, 
And  yet  the  stream  is  still  as  clear  and  bright 
Within  the  precious  bowers  of  my  mind 

As  though  I  stood  beside  its  banks  to-day, 

And  so  the  river  runs  on  in  my  soul. 
What  does  this  vision  teach,  but  that  the  true 
And  only  beauty,  seen  by  earnest  souls, 
Shall  never  die ;  and  that  all  forms  of  good, 
Which  I  have  ever  loved,  shall  ne'er  be  lost. 
34 


CONSCIENCE 


Methinks  I  stand  again  beside  that  stream  ; 

I  hear  the  weird  song  of  the  waterfall, 

And  watch  the  eddies  curling  on  their  way ; 

Or,  underneath  the  little  arched  bridge, 

I  pause  to  see  the  fishes  dart  about ; 

Or,  haply,  farther  on,  where  all  is  calm, 

I  watch  the  watery  mirror  of  the  sky, 

Framed  by  the  trees,  that  line  the  bank,  and  leave 

A  widening  vista  of  a  new,  bright  world. 

Aye,  I  have  gazed  so  long  within  the  depths 

That  they  have  lured  me  almost  to  believe 

That  I  might  find  there,  underneath  the  wave, 

The  true,  untroubled  life  for  which  I  long, 

Where   doubt,  and  sin,  and   partings   could   not 

come. 

So  I  have  thought  till  I  have  wished  to  leap 
Down  into  this  deep  heaven,  since  I  might 
Not  fly  up  to  the  lofty  one  above. 
But  calmer  thought  prevailed ;    and  even  now 
I  think  I  hear  the  hasting  waters  preach 
A  nobler  lesson,  for  they  tell  of  Conscience. 

Thus  saith   the   stream:  "Brother,  who  loiterest 

here 

To  listen  to  my  voice  and  watch  my  way, 
Oh,  look,  and  listen  well !    So  shalt  thou  learn 
A  lesson  better  than  the  ones  in  books. 
No  man  hath  told  me  how  to  choose  my  path, 
Nor  can  I  see  my  way  that  lies  before ; 
And  yet  the  hills  divide,  the  rocks  give  way, 
And  trees  and  flowers,  like  loving  sisters,  stand 
On  either  bank,  and  cheer  my  passing  by. 

Yet  am  I  not  alone.     There  is  a  Power 

That  gently  leads  me  on  through  day  and  night. 

I  see  it  not,  and  yet  I  feel  its  touch, 

And  love  its  leading.     Oh,  how  quick  I  leap 

35 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 

To  do  its  bidding !    Turning  here  and  there, 
Now  hasting  and  now  gliding  noiselessly, 
I  journey  on  past  hill,  and  field,  and  town, 
And  lead  my  perfect  life.     All  those  who  view 
My  passage  love  me.     Birds  stoop  down  and  kiss 
My  lips  and  then  rise  up  and  sing.     The  sun 
And  stars  shower  benedictions.     Children  oft 
Play  near,  and  tune  their  laughter  by  my  waves ; 
And  men  will  let  me  journey  through  their  land, 
Nor  call  me  trespasser,  because  they  know 
I  drain  their  fields,  and  turn  their  many  mills. 
My  life  is  ever  happy,  and  all  day 
I  follow  on  with  faith  and  hope,  and  so 
God  leads  me  from  the  mountain  to  the  sea. 

Would'st  thou  be  likewise  happy?     Then  know 

this: 

Thou  hast  a  guide  like  that  which  guidest  me, 
Given  thee  in  thy  very  earliest  days, 
To  tell  thee  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong, 
And  choose  the  central  best,  twixt  good  and  better. 
Thy  Conscience  is  this  guide,  God's  whisper-voice. 
Oh,  be  as  tender  to  its  spirit  touch 
As  weather  vanes  are  to  the  summer  winds, 
Or  flowers  to  dews   of   Heaven.     Thus,  by  listen 
ing, 

Thou  shalt  plainer  hear ;    and,  by  obedience, 
Obeying  shall  grow  easier;    and  thy  life 
Shall  be  a  blessing  to  all  sons  of  men. 
So  thy  brief  passage  through  this  world  shall  be, 
Not  like  the  flight  of  some  fear-blinded  bird, 
That  strikes  'gainst  trees  and  houses  in  its  flight, 
And  shortly  dies ;  but  like  my  peaceful  waves, 
So  shall  thy  days  pass  onward  fearlessly, 
Thy  past  a  present  pleasure,  present  days 
All  crowned  with  joy,  and  future  days  with  hope. 
Then  when  thou  enterest  the  gloom  of  death, 
36 


CONSCIENCE 


Even  as  I  approach  this  builded  bridge, 
Thou  shalt  discern  how  short  the  shadow  is 
That  spans  thy  path,  and  thou  shalt  see  beyond, 
A  vista  brighter  than  the  gates  of  morn, 
Where  thou  may'st  find  thy  destiny,  and  lead 
A  wider  life  through  widening  fields  of  change. 


TO  NATURE 

The  heart  of  Nature  being  everywhere  music. — Carlyle. 

DEAR  Mother  Nature  !     Sing  to  thee, 
Who  hast  so  often  sung  to  me? 
Much  rather  would  I  choose  to  listen 
Unto  thy  softest  whispered  word, 
In  murmuring  leaves  and  waters  heard, 
Where  sifting  moonbeams  glance  and  glisten, 
Than  mar  the  concord  with  my  voice. 
Alas,  that  I  have  but  one  choice, 
For  I  am  mured  in  city  walls. 
Imprisoned  thus,  my  spirit  calls 
To  thee  of  whom  I  only  spy 
The  splendor  of  thy  loving  eye  — 
The  solemn,  sweet,  protecting  sky  — 
Still  bending,  tender  as  of  yore. 
And  yet,  a  brighter  look  it  wore 
In  days  when  on  my  native  hills 
I  whistled  away  my  boyish  ills, 
Merrily  drove  the  kine  afield, 
Breathing  the  sweet  perfume  of  dew, 
While  all  my  joyous  nature  knew 
The  blessings  that  May  mornings  yield ! 

Kind  Mother  Nature !     I  but  send 
A  letter  thus  to  thee,  to  say 
That  though  in  city  streets  I  stray, 
I  love  thee  yet,  my  earliest  friend ; 

37 


THE   CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


For  memory  makes  me  even  now 
Feel  thy  cool  kisses  on  my  brow. 
What  time  I  leave  the  dusty  streets, 
I  feel  like  one  who,  homeward  bound, 
Leaves  boat  or  car,  and,  looking  round, 
The  welcome  of  a  dear  face  meets. 
For  even  thus  thy  beauty  greets 
My  hungry  eyes,  a  welcome  home  ; 
While  field,  and  stream,  and  forest  dome 
Break  out  in  music,  speech,  and  smiles 
That  lure  me  down  the  forest  aisles 
Where  wandering  winds  their  trumpets  blow, 
And  make  me  worship  ere  I  know. 
Oh,  take  us  when  our  hearts  are  wrong 
And  let  us  hear  thy  soothing  song  ! 
When  our  dull  souls  thy  spirit  spurn, 
Like  weather  vanes  that  will  not  turn, 
Set  us  up  on  a  breezy  hill ; 
There,  counter-currents  lost  below, 
To  trim  ourselves,  and  pointing,  show 
Our  faces  where  God's  winds  do  blow  ! 


How  I  remember  all  thy  dresses, 

Fair  Mother  Nature !     How  thy  tresses 

Swing  in  the  wind  from  forest  trees, 

And  how  thou  wearest  birds  and  bees 

And  flowers  to  suit  each  changing  season  — 

Quaint  ornaments  that  show  thy  reason, 

When  trailing  emerald  robes  the  hills, 

The  arbutus  thy  bosom  fills  ; 

In  shimmering  clouds  of  Summer  drest, 

A  wild  rose  lies  upon  thy  breast ; 

In  Autumn's  spangled  red  and  gold, 

Thy  arms  a  load  of  apples  hold ; 

Or  when  in  snow  thy  beauty  hides, 

A  snowbird  on  thy  shoulder  rides ! 

38 


TO   NATURE 


Oh,  well  I  love  the  somber  grays 
Thou  wearest  on  the  cloudy  days  ! 
Anon,  when  evening  skies  are  bare, 
The  diamonds  glitter  in  thy  hair, 
And,  nestling  in  a  cloud  of  lace, 
Thy  crescent  pin  shines  in  its  place ; 
Then  is  thy  step  as  blithe  and  gay 
As  maiden's  on  her  bridal  day ! 
Thus,  ever  varying,  yet  the  same, 
The  years  go  by  and  leave  thee  young 
But  not  thy  children ;  we  are  stung 
Soon  to  old  age.      Are  we  to  blame? 

Sweet  Mother  Nature  !     Right  thou  art, 
Time  draws  no  wrinkles  on  the  heart. 
Across  the  soul's  serene  expanse 
More  beauteous  moinings  yet  may  glance, 
And  merrier  choirs  in  statelier  trees 
Freight  with  rare  melody  the  breeze  ! 
The  sunrise  gilds  the  robin's  breast 
Upon  the  maple's  top  at  rest, 
And  lest  I  do  the  robin  wrong, 
I  pause  and  listen  for  his  song. 


THE  RECORD  OF  HAPPINESS 
A     KING,  who  languished  in  his  bed, 

^-^          And  wished  to  test  his  peoples'  weal, 

Called  to  his  minister,  and  said  : 

"  Go,  I  my  people's  pulse  would  feel. 

"In  yonder  square,  the  throng  among, 
Hang  a  great  book  with  pages  white, 

And  let  these  words  be  o'er  it  hung ; 
Let  all  whose  lives  are  happy  write.'1'' 

39 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


All  day  came  troops  of  curious  folk 
And  read  the  legend  o'er  the  book. 

Some  smiled,  some  sighed,  some  lightly  spoke, 
Some  turned  away  with  thoughtful  look. 

Old  age  came  tottering  on  his  staff, 
And  youth  with  all  the  wealth  of  life, 

The  reveler  paused  and  checked  his  laugh  — 
'Twas  passed  by  maiden,  bride,  and  wife. 

A  doting  mother  held  her  child, 

And  toying  with  the  pen  it  tried 
To  write ;  the  mother  saw  and  smiled, 

But  quick  it  dropped  the  pen  and  cried. 

Just  with  the  sun's  last  lingering  look 

A  beggar  tottered  to  the  stand. 
They  found  —  when  couriers  sought  the  book  - 

The  pen  clasped  in  his  lifeless  hand. 

When  to  the  king  the  book  was  sent, 

He  e^azed  on  the  unsullied  page. 
"  None  happy  ?     I  must  be  content." 

'Tis  said  he  lived  to  good  old  age. 


YE  DUTCHE  TOWNE  GIRLES 

(To  the  Belles  of  New  York.) 

T  T  7  HAT  burgh  so  poore  it  cannot  boaste 
Yv        Of  comely  maids,  a  gentle  hoste? 
What  hamlet  ye  have  wandered  bye 
Was  lit  not  by  a  damsel's  eye  ? 
And  ye  do  welle,  ye  swains,  to  trye 
Their  praises  wide  to  winge ; 
But  saye  no  worde 
Till  I  be  hearde, 
While  Dutche  Towne  Girles  I  singe  ! 

40 


YE   DUTCHE    TOWNE    GIRLES 


Thysse  Towne  I  singe  lyes  near  ye  shore 
And  holds  two  million  soules  or  more  ; 
Yet  it  doth  growe  in  such  a  waye 
Two  million  scarce  would  be  astraye ; 
Regarding  whiche  some  folke  do  saye  — 
And  'tis  a  harmlesse  thinge  — 
That  thysse  is  due 
Largely  to  you  — 
Ye  Dutche  Towne  Girles  I  singe. 

So  waxes  Dutche  Towne  more  and  more ; 
Each  pretty  maid  attracts  a  score 
Of  other  folke,  as  ye  knowe  welle, 
The  while  they  flocke  from  hille  and  delle, 
Here  in  a  mighty  clanne  to  dwelle 
And  wide  their  edicts  flinge  ; 
So  greate  the  power 
Is  at  thysse  houre 
Of  Dutche  Towne  Girles  I  singe. 

For  they  can  dresse  so  brave  and  neate 
From  comely  head  to  dainty  feete, 
With  proper  snood  or  jaunty  hatte, 
A  bodice  neither  round  nor  flatte  — 
And  skirts  that  match  like  tit  for  tat  — 
Could  he  but  see  them  swinge, 
Old  Peter  Stuy  — 
Vesant  would  eye 
These  Dutche  Towne  Girles  I  singe ! 

And  since  their  grandmammas  were  scene 
On  Battery  Walle  and  Bowling  Greene, 
With  stately  heads  y'  powdered  welle, 
No  other  damsels  may  excelle 
Those  whose  fine  grace  J  cannot  telle 
As  on  Broadway  in  Springe, 

41 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Like  flowers  a-rowe 
They  gaily  goe  - 
Fair  Dutche  Towne  Girles  I  singe  ! 

Nor  doe  they  all  neglect  ye  minde 
To  culture  welle,  as  ye  will  finde. 
With  a  sweet  studiousness  of  lookes 
They  often  browse  on  goodlye  bookes ; 
They  babble  French  like  merry  brookes, 
Anon  some  sampler  bringe 

That  showes  their  parte 
In  works  of  Arte  — 
Wise  Dutche  Towne  Girles  I  singe. 

A  racquet  they  can  swinge  so  feate, 
Or  sit  a  prancing  steede  so  fleete, 
That  one  would  be  a  foole  to  saye 
It  should  be  done  another  waye. 
And  when  their  fingers  lightly  straye 
Upon  ye  trembling  stringe, 
They  charme  ye  aire 
With  musick  rare  — 
Sweet  Dutche  Towne  Girles  I  singe ! 

Then  gaily  decked  in  Kirmesse  stalle 
Their  glances  holde  my  hearte  in  thralle, 
Or  on  ye  coach-box  seated  highe 
Their  beauty  shines  against  ye  skye, 
Or  when  ye  fiddler's  fingers  flye  — 
Grouped  in  a  merrye  ringe, 
With  slippered  feete 
None  dance  so  neate 
As  Dutche  Towne  Girles  I  singe. 

True  that  from  these  ye  mighte  not  knowe 

They  cared  for  aughte  but  worldlye  showe ; 

Yet  when  ye  Sabbath  spreads  its  skies 

They  bowe  ye  head  with  closed  eyes; 

42 


YE  DUTCHE    TOWNE    GIRLES 


And  many  mornings  as  I  rise 
I  see  them  sweetly  bring 

Such  goodlye  loades 

To  poor  abodes  — 
Kind  Dutche  Towne  Girles  I  singe. 

So,  swains,  I  rede  ye  to  beware 
Our  Dutche  Towne  Girles,  and  if  ye  care 
For  other  maid  with  her  abide, 
And  shield  your  hearte  and  eke  your  pride 
From  eyes  that  kille  so  farre  and  wide 
Ye  cloven-footed  kinge 
In  terror  flees 
Whene'er  he  sees 
Our  Dutche  Towne  Girles  I  singe ! 


THE  BEGGAR  MAID 

THE  winds  of    the  winter  are  keenest  that 
blow 

Round  the  bleak,  brownstone  walls  of  the  million 
aires'  row. 

And  the  sin  of  uncharity  seems  most  unkind 
In  a  street  full  of  palaces  swept  by  the  wind. 
Thus  it  was  in  the  gloom  of  a  December  night 
As  two  met  on  the  avenue ;  one  with  her  bright, 
Ragged  shawl  drawn  close  round  her  face  and  her 

form, 
And  her  skirts  blown  and  torn,  seemed  a  wraith  of 

the  storm  ! 

The  other  was  clad  well  from  headpiece  to  toe, 
And  the  lamp  threw  his  long  silhouette  on  the  snow. 

"  Could  you  spare  me  a  penny  ? "  a  pleading  voice 

said. 
But  the  man  strode  along  without  turning  his  head. 

43 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


"  Don't  bother  me,  girl,  you  can  work  for  your 
living." 

And  he  said  to  himself :  "  I  can't  always  be  giv 
ing  !  " 

"  But  please,  sir!  "  she  cried,  as  she  followed  him 
close, 

"You  have  a  bouquet;  would  you  give  me  a 
rose?" 

At  her  touch  Allan  Gray  at  once  slackened  his 

pace, 
And  he  thought,  as  he  threw  a  sharp  glance  at 

her  face, 
That,  somewhere,  he  had  seen  the  girl's  features 

before. 

But  then  he  had  traveled  two  continents  o'er, 
Seen  fair  faces  at  courts,  at  beaches  and  balls, 
And  others,  wine-flushed  ones,  in  Revelry's  halls. 
So  he  only  looked  once  at  the  bright,  pleading 

eyes 
And  thought :  "  Hum  !     She's  pretty,  good  figure 

and  size !  " 
"  No,  girl !     Are  you  crazy  ?     Think  you  I've  been 

buying, 

At  a  dollar  each,  roses  to  keep  you  from  crying? 
Why,  I  carry  the  flowers  to  my  own  lady  true  : 
Ha!  To  think  they  should  go  to  a  creature  like 

you  ! 
But  you're  saucy,  I   swear,  and  you're  pretty  as 

she, 
But  my  flowers  are  my  fortune  with  her,  don't  you 

see?" 

A  gust  of  wind  near  blew  the  shawl  from  her 
face, 

Where  a  flush  told  how  keenly  she  felt  her  dis 
grace. 

44 


THE   BEGGAR   MAID 


"  Have  a  care,  sir,"  she  cried,  "  or  your  fair  mistress 

may 

Give  you  back  your  own  roses  to  carry  away. 
There  are  places  and  times  when  flowers  cease  to 

be  sweet, 
And  you'll  want  in  the  house  what  you  slight  in 

the  street ! " 

Quick  as  flash  down  the  side  street  the  vision  has 

flown, 
And  a  laugh  seems  to  float  back  to  him  there, 

alone. 

Allan  Gray  had  a  practical  turn  to  his  mind, 
And,  of  late,  though  his  bachelor  years  had  been 

kind, 
He  had  said  to  his  mirror:  "  Old  man,  you  must 

marry, 
You've   more   sins   than   a    celibate   safely   may 

carry  ! " 

Miss  Edith  Van  Alstyne  was  comely  and  sweet, 
Of  good  blood,  and  her  father  stood  well  on  "  the 

street " ; 
And  quoth  Allan  to  Allan  :  "  I'll  charm  this  young 

dove, 
She  has  beauty  and  money,  I'll  manage  the  love." 

There  are  women  whose  hearts  are  as  weak  as 
their  hands, 

And  who  never  withstand  a  rich  suitor's  demands  ; 

Like  the  toys,  which,  if  you  give  a  coin  to  their 
hold, 

Straightway  open  their  doors  and  their  treasures 
unfold ! 

There  are  others,  thank   God !  like  the  bud  of  a 
rose, 

That  the  sunshine  of  love  will  alone  make  un 
close, 

45 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


And  no  sweeter  or  truer  of  these  ever  grew 
Than  was  Edith  Van  Alstyne,  as  shrewd  people 
knew. 


Ting-a-ling !  went  the  bell  at  a  stained  crystal 

door, 
While  Allan  breathed  his  roses'  perfume  o'er  and 

o'er 
Ere  the  summons  was  answered.     "  Miss  Edith  ? 

Oh,  yes ; 
She  has  just  now  come  in,  sah,  and  gone   up  to 

dress." 

All  parlors  seem  dreary  when  one  has  to  wait, 
So  Allan  scanned  the  paintings  and  gazed  in  the 

grate, 
While  he  likened   his  heart  to  the  fierce,  glowing 

coal, 
And  a  statue  of  Psyche  to  Edith,  sweet  soul ! 


Then  came  visions  of  nights  at  the  opera  flown, 
When  Wagner's  sound-dreams  or  Bellini's   sweet 

tone 
Seemed   to    weave    a  new    charm    round    a   fair, 

thoughtful  face 
In    box    number    nine.      Ah,    he    well   knew    the 

place ! 
"  I    must    push    my    scheme    now,"    thought    he. 

"  Had  I  a  lute, 

Or  that  handsome  new  tenor  to  trumpet  my  suit ! 
I've  spent  enough  money  her  coy  heart  to  soften. 
Yet,  hang  it !  if  she  had  accepted  more  often 
The    rides   and  the    presents,   and,   yes,   and    my 

puns, 
'Twould  have   suited  me  finely,  despite  florists' 

duns." 
46 


THE   BEGGAR   MAID 


Anon,  down  the  stairs  swept  a  soft  rustling  dress, 

Gleamed  through  the  dark  portieres  a  draped  love 
liness, 

And  a  voice,  "  Mr.  Gray  ?  "  on  the  deep  silence 
fell. 

"  Ah,  how  charming,  Miss  Edith,  I  hope  you  are 
well. 

I  brought  you  some  roses.  Those  florists,  the 
churls, 

Begrudged  me  these  beauties,  the  '  Mermets  '  and 
'  Pearls.' 

Pray  take  them,  and  with  them,  for  I  cannot  wait, 

My  love,  and  to-night,  dear,  oh,  tell  me  my  fate  !  " 

Slowly    raising   her    eyes   from    the    floor    as    he 

closed, 
With  her  form  'gainst  the  curtains  unconsciously 

posed, 
"  Mr.   Gray !      Were    I   penniless,   friendless,  this 

hour, 

Would  you  give  me  a  penny,  or  even  a  flower  ?  " 
"  Why,  of  course,  I  would  give  you  my  fortune,  my 

all, 

Now  ask  me  for  anything,  I'll  heed  the  call !  " 
"  Then  why,  when  I  asked  you  a  half  hour  ago, 
Did  you  spurn  me  away  ?     Does  your  heart  vary  so  ? 
Yes,  'twas  I,  but  don't  think  I  was  foolish  to  prove 

you, 

To  try  if,  unknown,  unadorned,  I  could  move  you. 
Had  I  begged  of  you  love,  still  unheard  might  I 

go, 

For  I  fear  that  you  have  none  of  that  to  bestow. 
And,  to-day,  father's  fortune  is  swept  away  quite, 
So  I  play  my  true  role  as  a  beggar  to-night. 
What?     'That  makes  a  difference?'     Yes,  so  I 

thought. 
Here,  you  are  forgetting  the  roses  you  brought. 

47 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Why  leave  in  such  haste  ?     You  did  never  before ! 
And   I   thought  you  knew   how   to  unfasten  the 

door ! 
Let  me  help  you.     There,  pull  the   small  knob; 

here's  your  cane. 

It's  freezing — too  bad — and  beginning  to  rain  ! 
Farewell !     If  you  tell  your  friends  father's  sad 

tale, 
Please  mention  his  daughter  is  not  yet  for  sale  !  " 

Signora  Piccova,  in  making  her  rounds, 

Next   morn   clapped   her   hands   and  gave  three 

little  bounds, 

As  she  found  in  an  ash  barrel,  covered  up  warm, 
Mr.  Allan  Gray's  roses  kept  safely  from  harm, 
And  which,  dusted  and  washed,  made  a  nice  little 

store 

Of  boutonnieres  to  sell  at  an  uptown  club  door ; 
While  who  should  come  sauntering  slowly  that 

way 
And  buy  a  pink  rosebud  but  Mr.  A.  Gray ! 

Time  had  flown  and  had  wafted  in  June's  perfect 

weather, 

When   two  men   walked  the  avenue,  talking  to 
gether. 

The  chimes  of  St.  Thomas  were  ringing  so  gladly, 
So  tunefully,  merrily,  gayly,  and  madly, 
That   the   twain   stopped  to    see  the  gay  people 

come  out. 
"Why!    That's    Miss  Van   Alstyne,  without  any 

doubt. 

You  know,  Gray,  her  father  went  under  last  year, 
But  her  ma  had  a  million  or  two  left,  I  hear." 

Yes,  the  "  beggar  "  is  robed  in  rich  satin  and  lace, 
And  the  look  of  a  happy  bride  softens  her  face, 
48 


"  Hark  to  tlie  voice  of  virgin  forests  sighing! 
List  to  the  hunter's  cry  upon  the  breeze  !  " 

—  A  Hymn  to  Ponus. 


THE   BEGGAR   MAID 


While  as  Mendelssohn's  music  strikes  on  Allan's 

ears- 

It  carries  a  moral,  for  he  fancies  he  hears  : 
A  -woman  who's  worthy  to  be  a  marts  wife, 
Though  she  has  not  a  penny,  is  worth  a  marts 

life  ! 


A  HYMN  TO  PONUS 

(Written  for  the  dedication  of  the  Monolith  on  Ppnus  Path,  erected 
by  the  New  Canaan  Historical  Society.) 

«ARK  to  the  voice  of  virgin  forests  sigh 
ing! 
t  to  the  hunter's  cry  upon  the  breeze ! 
Hark  to  the  whisper  of  the  arrow  flying ! 

Mark  the  struck  deer  quick  bounding  'neath  the 
trees ! 

Where  is  the  Child  of  Nature,  whose  dim  story 
We  seek  to  reillume  in  modern  rhyme  ? 

Where  are  his  haunts,  the  forests  in  their  glory? 
The  skies  alone  are  left  untouched  by  time. 

Red,  o'er  the  ridges  where  his  footsteps  wandered, 
Still  gleams  the  orb  he  faced  with  filial  eye  ; 

Still  shine  the  stars  on  which  he  nightly  pondered 
In  childlike  wonder  at  their  mystery. 

To  all  our  searching  it  is  scarcely  given 
To  find  of  grave  or  wigwam  any  trace ; 

His  paths  are  plowed,  the  very  rocks  are  riven, 
Even  the  streams  are  tamed  to  lesser  grace. 

Breaking  the  clasp  of  Nature,  his  fond  mother, 
Could  he  his  eye  upon  this  prospect  range, 

Sadly  he'd  say  :  Alas,  my  pale-face  brother, 
He,  the  Great  Spirit,  only,  does  not  change  ! 

49 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Change  !  Change  is  regnant  always,  yet,  coeval, 
Resurgent  Life  beside  him  queenly  reigns ! 

The  blood  that  beat  beneath  the  woods  primeval 
Courses  undaunted  on  in  many  veins. 

And  on  the  western  prairies,  bravely  turning 

From  the  old  ways  to  blaze  their  path  anew. 
In  field    and   shop   and  school  strong  hearts  are 

learning, 

And  prove  the  red  man's  hand  still  deft  and 
true. 

White  flocks  and  dappled  herds  his  eye  are  fill 
ing 

With  joy  and  pride  as  once  the  bear  and  deer ; 
Place  for  the  hoe  the  tomahawk  is  willing, 

The  corn-blade  is  the  warrior's  tasseled  spear. 

Full  tardily  our  Ponus'  name  is  graven 
On  native  rock  to  mark  his  burial  spot. 

What  should  we  say  if,  to  our  duty  craven, 
Our  local  sagamore  should  be  forgot  ? 

Here  was  his  home.     Down  to  the  Sound's  bright 

waters 
He  fared,  as  we,  when  summer  skies  were  blue. 

There  mingled,  too,  his  dusky  sons  and  daugh 
ters 

With  those  of  Myanos  and  Wascussue. 

His  full-breathed  lungs  with  purest  breezes  fill 
ing* 

Baring  his  rounded  muscles  in  the  chase, 
His  well-trained  form  to  Nature's  music  thrilling, 

Healthful  and  unashamed  he  ran  his  race. 

With  mind  too  nobly  framed  for  cheating  others, 
To  sordid  greed  of  land  at  least  no  slave, 

50 


A    HYMN   TO   PONUS 


He  sold  for  paltry  coats  to  his  white  brothers, 
And  hardly  kept  enough  to  hold  his  grave. 

Then    Nature    called    him,   said :     My    child,   no 
longer 

Essay  to  tend  the  maize  or  stalk  the  deer, 
Nor  bargain  with  thy  brother  who  is  stronger, 

But,  nobly  simple,  sheathe  the  broken  spear. 

In  days  to  come  shall  shine  thy  brave  example, 
And  men  shall  tell  the  pathos  of  thy  race, 

The  proud  dark  owners  of  these  acres  ample, 
Who  yielded  up  to  fate  with  kingly  grace. 

Teach  us  the  secret  of  such  simple  living, 
Teach  us  to  face  the  sun  and  court  the  air, 

To  take  the  royal  gifts  of  Nature's  giving 
And  envy  not  another's  greater  share. 

Long  may,  on  Ponus  Path,  this  sentry  standing, 
The  sun,  the  stars,  the  hunter's  moon,  salute  ; 

A  silent  figure,  rugged  and  commanding, 

Bearing    its   message   when   our    tongues    are 
mute. 

Yet,  though  we  raise  the  stone  and  guard  it  duly, 
Stern  Time,  some  day,  shall  bid  the  finger  fall ; 

The  only  monument  that  serves  us  truly 
Is  the  heart's  honest  word,  to  each  and  all. 


GREETING  TO  STAMFORD 

25oth  Anniversary  (1641  —  1892), 
Read  in  the  Town  Hall,  Stamford,  Conn.,  Oct.  19,  1892. 

THE  fairest  jewel  on  the  sea's  bright  arm, 
Where  southern  slopes  make  wintry  days 

seem  warm, 

Where  on  Long  Island's  bluffs  one  seems  to  see 
Hints  of  the  promised  land  that  is  to  be, 

51 


THE   CHORDS  OF  LIFE 


Where  mystic  sails  glide  on  the  gentle  swell, 
And  singing  rivers  aid  the  magic  spell  — 
We  greet  thee,  happy  town,  this  natal  morn  — 

A  goddess  rising  from  the  sea,  new  born 

The  Rippowam  of  times  now  passed  away, 
The  fresh,  bright,  blushing  Stamford  of  to'day ! 
As  keeps  America  her  festal  year, 
And  proves   four   centuries   have  not  made   her 

sere, 

How  well  may  our  fair  city  gaily  laugh, 
Whose  age  is  but  two  centuries  and  a  half  ! 

What  needs  the  eye  that  any  tongue  should  tell 
The  wondrous  changes  that  we  see  so  well? 
Since  the  first  axe  the  forest  woke  from  sleep, 
And  Ponus  out  of  Progress'  path  did  creep 
(Selling  the  right  of  way  so  wondrous  cheap) ; 
Since  Benton  ruled  with  Puritanic  sway, 
Leading  his  flock  in  straight  and  narrow  way, 
Since  Abram  Davenport  guided  long  and  well 
The  fates  and  councils  of  this  chosen  dell, 
And  framed  a  tale  for  Whittier's  pen  to  tell ; 
What  wondrous  wand  has  waved  the  region  o'er, 
Rolled  back  the  virgin  forest  from  the  shore, 
Bid  stately  homes  and  schools  and  churches  stand 
Where  once  the  log-built  cabin  held  the  land, 
And  planted  busy  mill  and  teeming  farm, 
Protected  by  the  Nation's  mighty  arm  ? 
What  now  would  fierce  Miantonomoh  say 
To  yonder  warship,  anchored  in  the  bay  ? 
No  more  may  Toquam  chief  or  Wascussue 
Gaze  on  the  Mataubaun  they  loved  and  knew ; 
No  more  the  Indian  maid's  birch  boat  may  glide 
Where  now  the  yachts  in  stately  beauty  ride ; 
And  one  must  traverse  many  a  ridge  and  dale 
To  strike  to-day  the  vanished  red  man's  trail. 
52 


GREETING    TO   STAMFORD 


Not  idly  did  the  fathers  choose  for  name 

That  of  a  spot  long  linked  with  England's  fame, 

Where  Saxon  Harold  drave  the  northern  foe, 

By  Derwent  river,  centuries  ago. 

For,  since  the  sturdy  Pilgrims  planted  here 

Their  first  log  cabins  in  a  forest  drear, 

Moved  by  their  mighty  thirst  for  freer  air, 

Driven  by  bonds  no  Puritan  could  bear, 

Its  free-born  title  has  not  shown  a  flaw, 

Nor  known  a  conqueror  save  Peace  and  Law. 

What  though  the  prowling  red  man  might  assail, 

And  draw  an  Underhill  upon  his  trail ; 

Though  British  guns  might  rake  Ridgefield  with 

fire, 

Norwalk  or  Bedford  glow,  a  patriot  pyre ; 
And  daring  redcoats  put  to  hasty  flight 
The  gallant  Putnam  down  the  Greenwich  height, 
This  spot  has  kept  its  "  never-conquered  "  fame — 
A  green  oasis  in  a  prairie  flame  ! 

Is  there  a  son  of  Stamford  never  knew 

The  ground  where  Tallmadge,  Waterbury  grew, 

Nor  guessed  why  —  scorning  any  meaner  glory  — 

His  heart  beat  high  at  hearing  Mather's  story  — 

Dragged  from  his  pulpit  to  the  prison  ships 

To  taste  the  last  dread  draught  for  patriot  lips  ? 

So,  too,  when  Civil  War  overflowed  its  banks, 

Drew  one  in  ten  to  swell  the  loyal  ranks, 

How  many  knew  the  grief  they  could  not  speak 

Save  in  the  tear-drop  on  the  mourner's  cheek! 

Look  where  a  Hobbie's  name  shines  with  the  rest. 

Type  of  a  love  that  yielded  up  its  best  — 

A  mother's  offering  to  the  deadly  guns  — 

A  new  Niobe  weeping  for  her  sons  ! 

Ah,  speed  the  day  when  all  this  love  we  own 

For  that  rare  flower  of  chivalry  now  flown 

Shall  blossom  in  imperishable  stone  ! 

53 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Peace  to  the  Past!  throughout  the  centuries  dead 

The  Hand  that  led  the  Pilgrims  still  has  led. 

In  their  rude  way  they  laid  the  bases  broad  ' 

For  liberty  to  live  and  worship  God ; 

And  sad  for  us  if  we  shall  yield  a  span 

Of  the  great  rights  that  make  a  man  a  man. 

As  rolling  music,  joyous  faces  greet 

The  wanderer  in  every  festal  street, 

As  the  old  town,  with  strong  affection's  arms, 

Draws  home  her  sons  from  seas  and  towns  and 

farms, 
We   pledge    her   health  with    many   an    earnest 

prayer; 

May  taint  of  error  ne'er  pollute  her  air  ; 
Still  may  the  sea,  the  forest,  and  the  field 
Roll  to  her  ample  lap  a  fairer  yield ; 
May  every  daughter,  every  stalwart  son 
Add  to  the  fathers'  work,  so  well  begun, 
That  thus,  fair  Stamford,  whosoever  claim 
Thy  sisters  pencil  on  the  scroll  of  fame, 
Thy  sons  need  never  blush  to  speak  thy  name  ! 


54 


Seldom  the  stream  is  sought  by  human  eyes, 
This  virgin  beauty  in  its  loveliness." 

—  Peace 


Vale. 


LYRICS  OF  LIFE 


PEACE  VALE 

(Rippowam  River.) 

THE  cool  arms  of  the  hemlocks  sway  along 
The  way   that   winds   into   the   Vale   of 

Peace, 

Where  piny  odors,  and  the  wood-bird's  song, 
And  low  tree-murmurs  hold  perpetual  lease.  « 

A  vale  of  sorcery,  the  angler  here 

Forgets  the  fishes,  toying  with  his  rod ; 

The  painter,  seated  on  the  mossy  weir, 
Over  his  palette  soon  will  dream  and  nod. 

Beneath  the  rude  gray  bridge  is  ever  falling 
The  fair  young  river,  here  in  passion's  foam ; 

And  one  may  listen  to  the  sea-nymphs,  calling 
Their  sister  naiad  from  her  mountain  home. 

Seldom  the  stream  is  sought  by  human  eyes  — 
This  virgin  beauty  in  her  loveliness; 

Only  an  old  gray  homestead,  matron  wise, 
Seems  gravely  looking  at  the  river's  stress. 

But  next  the  water  takes  a  careless  way, 

Singing  and  laughing  as  young  maidens  will, 

Half  startled  where  the  gentle  cattle  stray, 
Or  loitering,  pensive,  by  the  ruined  mill. 

Sometimes  a  veil  of  vapor  intervenes, 
The  trees  are  all  a-glisten  with  its  dew, 

And  there  lie  Nature's  secrets,  virgin  scenes, 
And  penetrable  only  to  the  few. 

Last,  like  a  bride,  with  half-concealed  smile, 
Pride  in  her  bearing  and  her  footstep  free, 

The  river,  'neath  a  cool,  green-fretted  aisle, 
Moves,  stately,  to  her  wedding  with  the  sea. 

55 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


CHRISTMAS   EMBLEMS 

(The  Star  — The  Yule-Log— The  Holly  — The  Child) 

RIGHT  heavenly  guide  that  truly  led 
The  wise  men  from  the  east  afar, 

paused  above  the  manger-bed 
While  angels  smiled  through  doors  ajar  - 
Be  thou  our  guiding  star ! 

O  Yule-log,  weaving  mystic  gleams 
And  shadows  on  the  haunted  floor, 

Show  us  how  through  thy  fervor  streams 
The  charity  that,  lit  of  yore, 
Glows  kindlier  evermore. 

Amid  the  holly's  glossy  green, 

Or  where  the  alder  decks  each  bud, 

The  ruby  berries,  thickly  seen, 
Shall  typify  that  precious  flood  — 
His  freely  given  blood. 

And  oh,  sweet  Child  !  the  flower  of  love  ! 

Creation's  crown !  still  gently  win 
Our  hearts  and  souls  to  realms  above, 

Afar  from  touch  of  soiling  sin, 

Till  we  shall  "  enter  in." 


INSTRUMENTS 

THE  buffeted  cliff  by  the  main 
Drew  the  violin  pine  to  its  breast, 
And  soft  was  the  wind-wakened  strain 

Of  the  boughs  by  the  breezes  caressed, 
Till  a  soul  that  had  listened  in  pain 
Was  lulled  into  infinite  rest. 
56 


INSTRUMENTS 


In  a  many-towered  palace  of  state 

Stood  a  minstrel,  all  silvered  with  years. 

Then  his  ruler,  as  cruel  as  great, 

Bade  him  sing  for  his  prince  and  the  peers ; 

And  the  heart  that  was  hardened  with  hate 
Was  melted  to  love  and  to  tears ! 

A  life  that  was  simple  and  true 
Was  chosen  to  meet  a  great  need : 

Through  each  rift  of  a  duty  to  do 

Sprang  a  glory  of  sunburst  —  a  deed  — 

Till  he  walked  on  a  world  that  was  new, 
And  the  sound  of  his  name  was  a  creed. 


A  FAREWELL  TO  YESTERDAY 

WHERE  is  the  road  to  Yesterday? 
Oh,  tell  in  prose  or  rhyme  ; 
For  I  would  trace  my  backward  way 
To  that  enchanting  clime. 

Life  was  so  fresh  and  good  and  true, 
And  friends  so  kind  and  fair. 

Why  should  a  day  so  bright  and  new 
All  fade  away  in  air  ? 

Who  knows  the  road  to  Yesterday  ? 

Is  every  seeker  blind  ? 
Say,  does  it  cast  no  single  ray 

To  pilot  those  behind  ? 

Oh,  there's  a  road  that  leads  our  feet 
To  hours  more  glad  and  bright ; — 

A  road  so  short,  a  joy  complete, 
A  journey  of  a  night ! 

57 


CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Come,  bid  farewell  to  Yesterday ! 

For  in  To-morrow's  face 
The  happiest  days  now  flown  away 

Shine  with  a  sweeter  grace. 


WHERE  SHALL  WE  BURY  HIM? 

WHERE  should  we  bury  our  dearest  dead? 
Out  in  the  meadow  his  grave  should  be, 
Clover  and  daisies  over  his  head 

Swaying  and  singing  their  psalmody; 
For  all  the  old  world  is  sacred  soil, 

And  most  the  meadows,  hallowed  by  toil. 

Never  a  stone  on  his  place  of  sleep, 
But  level  the  grass  shall  over  him  sweep  ; 
Never  the  mower  shall  know  if  his  feet 

Press  his  covering  firmer  down; 
Nothing  that  molders,  vain  and  fleet, 

Shall  mock  the  gleam  of  his  emerald  crown. 

We  may  not  scatter  our  fading  flowers 

Above  his  ashes  with  tender  will ; 
But  Spring,  with  hands  more  faithful  than  ours, 

Will  bring  the  blossoms  when  ours  are  still ; 
Painting  and  building,  above  his  breast, 
Every  season  shall  deck  his  rest. 

So,  year  after  year,  the  field  will  grow 
A  living  pledge  of  the  life  laid  low. 
Nor  would  he  ask  for  a  fairer  sign 

Than  bobolinks,  dipping  and  singing  at  morn, 
Than  careless  straying  of  horses  and  kine, 

Than  changing  sentries  of  wheat  and  corn. 

Why  then  cumber  the  sad,  sweet  world 
With  moldering  stone  and  crumbling  urn, 

58 


WHERE  SHALL  WE  BURY  HIM? 


Too  weak  to  tell  of  the  love  impearled 

That  flew  to  the  city  where  jaspers  burn? 
Buried  beneath  this  sea  of  grass, 
God  can  find  him  when  He  doth  pass. 


THE  BRIDGE 

AT    gallop,    at    gallop,   through    storm    and 
night ! 
For  over  the  river,  with  well-trimmed  light, 

A  woman  her  vigil  doth  keep. 
She  knows  the  torrent  has  burst  its  bounds, 
The  owl  without  makes  boding  sounds, — 
That  into  her  heart  do  creep. 

"  O-ho-o-o  !     O-ho-o-o  !  "  the  white  owl  cries  ; 

"  Your  lover  doth  tarry  long  !  " 
Then  saith  the  woman,  as  one  more  wise, 

"  The  bridge  is  safe  and  strong." 

The  rider  has  come  to  the  river's  brink, 
He  enters  the  bridge  and  little  does  think 

His  fearful  fate  so  near. 

A  crash,  and  a  swirl,  and  he  meets  his  death  ; 
The  waters  have  smothered  his  anguished  breath, 

And  the  river  flows  dark  and  drear. 

Still  up  by  the  cottage  the  white  owl  cries  : 

"  Your  lover  doth  tarry  long  !  " 
And  she,  like  one  in  a  dream,  replies  : 

"  The  bridge  is  safe  and  strong." 

What  terrible  sound  is  in  the  skies  ? 

"  The  bridge,  the  bridge,"  she  wildly  cries. 

(There's  rest  on  the  cottage  floor). 
All  night  in  the  doorway  the  rain  doth  dash, 
The  owl  is  stricken  by  lightning  flash, 

The  river  doth  rage  and  roar ; 

59 


THE    CHORDS    OF  LIFE 


While  the  wind  goes  by  with  a  voice  that  saith 

"  The  waiting  is  never  long. 
From  the  land  of  life  to  the  land  of  death 

The  bridge  is  sure  and  strong." 


GERARDIA 

PURE  little  bells,  low  swinging 
Along  the  pasture  ways, 
Accept  my  rustic  singing 

Although  I  lack  the  bays  ! 
For  when  the  dew  is  ringing 

Your  pink  with  diamond  rays 
There's  nothing  fairer  springing 
In  rich  September  days  ! 

Like  shy,  sweet  little  lasses, 

Your  faces,  fresh  and  clear, 
Salute  one  as  he  passes 

With  courtesies  kind  and  dear. 
How  glad  I  leave  the  masses 

To  linger  with  you  here  ! 
Oh,  greet  me  'mong  the  grasses 

Till  life  is  late  and  sere. 


"HEIMGANG" 

AS  we  go  forth  each  hopeful,  beckoning  day 
To  join  in  mirth  or  sterner  lessons  learn, 
Most  glad  of  all  we  find  the  homeward  way 
And  sweet  return. 

Thus,  when  life's  day  of  work  and  play  is  past, 
And  we  no  more  with  weary  footsteps  roam, 

Sweetest  of  all  will  be  to  us  at  last 

The  going  home. 
60 


THE    VOYAGE 


THE  VOYAGE 

THE  music  echoes  along  the  shores, 
The  barge  goes  gaily  by  ; 
It  sails  a  river  that  never  was  known, 
And  no  man  knoweth  why. 

And  some  of  the  voyagers  forward  gaze, 
Whose  hearts  with  hope  yet  burn, 

While  others  watch  the  waves  behind 
And  wish  they  might  return. 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  SHIP 

WITH  banners  her  masts  adorning, 
And  fair  as  the  ocean's  foam, 
The  ship  sailed  out  in  the  morning, 

Out  of  her  harbor  home. 
All  new  from  the  hand  of  her  maker, 

Who  watched  her  sailing  away 
To  battle  with  storm  and  breaker, 
To  wrestle  with  wind  and  spray. 

'Tis  many  a  month  since  the  sailing, 

But  the  builder  is  hopeful  still ; 
As  the  glow  in  the  west  is  paling, 

He  stands  on  the  seaward  hill. 
And  the  ship  comes  homeward  slowly, 

All  battered,  and  rent,  and  frayed ; 
But  he  welcomes  her  though  she  is  lowly, 

For  he  loveth  the  ship  he  made. 

O  Builder  of  human  vessels, 

That  sail  in  the  morning  of  youth 

Out  on  the  unknown  ocean 

With  yearning  for  light  and  truth  ! 

61 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Art  Thou  for  Thy  vessels  watching, 
Awake  on  Thy  seaward  hill  ? 

Wilt  know  us  when,  worn  and  weary, 
We  wait  for  Thy  further  will? 


CREEDS 

ACROSS  the  bay  the  beacon  shines 
To  boatmen  three,  and  sheds  its  light 
Along  the  waves  in  glimmering  lines 
To  guide  them  through  the  night. 

The  great  clouds  darken,  and  the  gale 
Dashes  the  spray  with  deafening  roar, 

As  each  to  each  the  boatmen  hail 
While  toiling  for  the  shore. 

"  The  lighthouse  lamp  doth  light  for  me 

A  royal  journey  home  ; 
Only  to  me,  the  path  I  see 

Gilding  the  crests  of  foam  !  " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  the  second  says,  "  you  boast, 
For  straight  from  yonder  headland  bold, . 

Full  on  my  boat,  from  off  the  coast, 
Flashes  the  line  of  gold  !  " 

"  The  bay  is  black,  both  left  and  right," 
Then  laughs  the  last  one  of  the  three, 

"  But  spirits  bright  have  swept  with  light 
The  path  that  leads  to  me !  " 

Ah,  silly  seamen,  who,  each  day, 

Voyaging  on  the  unknown  sea, 
Quarrel  among  yourselves  and  say, 

"  The  path  leads  but  to  me." 
62 


CREEDS 


Could  you  change  vessels,  then  for  aye 
Would  vanish  selfish  creed  and  whim, 

Seeing  how  Love  lights  each  a  way 
To  lead  us  home  to  Him ! 


THE  OVER-CURTAIN 

GALLERIES  of  art  are  thronged, 
Yet  this  Painter  still  is  wronged  ! 
Many  prize  the  pictures  framed, 
Catalogued  and  aptly  named  — 
Praising  all  the  mimic  skies, — 
But,  outdoors  they  have  no  eyes  ! 
Here  is  faultless  painting  truly, 
Girt  by  hills  that  frame  it  duly  ; 
Here  is  art  that  charms  the  eye  — 
Glorious,  ever-changing  sky. 
And  the  painting  has  this  in  it, 
'Tis  a  new  one  every  minute  ; 
And  one  never  tires  of  gazing, 
Be  it  clear  or  softly  hazing ; 
Be  it  bright,  or  gray  and  hoary, 
Or  a  burst  of  sunset  glory. 
Never  in  the  days  of  yore 
Was  it  just  like  this  before  ! 
Ne'er  again  in  sun  or  rain, 
Will  it  be  the  same  again  ! 
Peasant,  look  !     Your  painting  beats 
The  rarest  one  in  London's  streets ! 
Sight  on  land  goes  little  way  — 
Through  the  sky  it  goes  for  aye ; 
Through  the  blue  eternal  miles 
Still  the  wondrous  vista  smiles. 
And  it  seems,  sometimes,  for  certain 
Heaven's  beautiful  drop-curtain, 

63 


7777i    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Made  to  charm  us  till  it  raises 
On  the  scene  the  Psalmist  praises ! 


CITY  PARKS 

T    T  OW  I  love  the  little  spaces  — 
J^    I      Never  failing  founts  of  health  — 
Nature's  beautiful  oases' 

In  the  desert  sands  of  wealth  ! 

Here  the  plashing  fountains  springing 
Shine  like  jewel-burdened  sheaves  ; 

To  their  cadence  birds  are  singing 
Madrigals  among  the  leaves. 

Pansies  in  their  lowly  places, 

Spreading  perfume  through  the  grass, 

With  their  sweet,  unwrinkled  faces, 
Seem  to  chide  us  as  we  pass. 

Ah,  poor  children  of  the  city, 
Who  have  never  Nature  known, 

What  a  pity,  what  a  pity, 
This  is  all  of  her  you  own. 

Yet  this  glimpse  unto  you  given, 
Source  of  courage  yet  may  be, 

Like  the  dreams  we  dream  of  Heaven, 
Knowing  not  what  it  shall  be. 


TO  L.  E.  S.  AND  E.  B.  S. 

(With  "  Wayside  Music.") 

GOOD  Shipmen,  by  this  murmuring  stream  - 
All  storms  forgot  in  summer's  dream  — 
Pray  take  my  "  music  by  the  way," 
As  free  as  song  from  maple  spray  ; 
64 


TO   L.  E.  S.  AND   E.  B.  S. 


Yet  wishing  it  may  ne'er  intrude 
Upon  your  bosky  solitude ; 
Or  if  'tis  read  while  purrs  the  fall, 
May  seem  an  echo  to  its  call  — 
So  true  to  life,  in  some  small  jot  — 
Or  in  stream-music  be  forgot ! 


BIRDS  OF  PASSAGE 

LIKE  birds  that  southward  fly 
When  nights  are  growing  long, 
Looping  across  the  evening  sky 
A  silver  thread  of  song  ; 

I  hear  the  spirit  wings 
Hastening  over  my  head, 

And  my  soul  awakes  and  sings 
To  the  music  they  have  shed. 

And  though  my  eyes  are  wet 
To  see  them  fade  in  sky, 

I  think  I  hear  their  music  yet, — 
Echoes  that  will  not  die. 

And  in  the  endless  Springs, 

When  Hope's  fair  blossoms  burn, 

Shall  I  not  hear  again  their  wings  ? 
Shall  they  not  all  return  ? 


THE  POET 

I    AM  not  young,    I  am  not  old, 
For  Time  has  fled  before  me ; 
All  gates  before  my  touch  unfold, 
Transparent  skies  are  o'er  me. 

65 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


I  gaze  in  maiden's  eyes,  and  ken 

Their  never-uttered  speech  ; 
I  look  into  the  souls  of  men 

Deeper  than  they  can  reach. 

The  sun  each  morn  I  link  anew 

Unto  my  kingly  cars  ; 
Each  evening  drive  through  realms  of  blue 

My  silver-harnessed  stars. 

My  spirit  speaks,  and  birds  and  bees 

Obey  my  slightest  will ; 
And  silent  things  break  out  in  speech, 

And  noisy  things  are  still. 

No  noble  thing  escapes  my  love, 

All  maidens  pure  are  mine, 
And  ever  round  me,  from  above, 

The  rays  of  beauty  shine. 


ON  FORT  GREENE,  BROOKLYN 

XLOVE  to  stand  upon  a  hill ; 
I  know  not  why  'tis  dearer, 
ess,  childlike,  I  fancy  here 
That  heaven's  a  little  nearer. 

And  so  I  linger  here  to-night, 
Down  looking  on  the  city, 

Whose  soft-ascending  murmur  fills 
My  heart  with  awe  and  pity. 

The  weary  thousands  homeward  go  ; 

It  fairly  makes  me  dizzy 
To  think  that  in  each  moving  form 

A  heart  and  brain  are  busy ! 
66 


ON  FORT  GREENE,  BROOKLYN 


Oh,  what  a  wondrous  flood  of  men ! 

What  weariness  and  weeping 
To  have  one  glorious  glance  at  life 

And  then  the  unknown  sleeping  ! 

For  who  can  help  to  question  :  Why  ? 

And:  Whither  are  we  tending? 
To  send  the  query  to  the  sky 

And  ask  what  is  the  ending  ? 

The  stars  are  wise,  they  will  not  speak, 

Yet  hopefully  keep  shining; 
Shall  I  not,  too,  do  well  to  wait 

And  watch  without  repining  ? 

A  glad  boy  whistles  in  the  street, 

The  merry  car  bells  jingle, 
The  gun  booms  o'er  the  bay  :  "  All's  well !  " 

Again  my  warm  veins  tingle. 

Two  lovers  laugh  and  pass  and  then 

The  dusk  around  them  closes, 
While  from  a  bush  below  the  wall 

I  catch  the  breath  of  roses. 

So,  after  all,  what  though  we  die 

If  still  the  sky  is  blue  ? 
If  roses  still  are  fair  and  sweet, 

And  love  is  pure  and  true  ? 


WHEN  THIS  SHALL  BE  DREAM 

OME  say  that  we  hope  for  our  Heaven  in 

vain, 

The  dream  will  prove  false,  not  a  shadow  remain. 
And  yet  I  keep  hoping  a  time  may  come,  too, 
When  Earth  shall  be  dream  and  Heaven  be  true. 

67 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


We  talk  very  wise  as  we  play  with  Time's  toys. 
Ah,  Father,  forgive  us,  poor  ignorant  boys! 
Believing  in  nothing  unfelt  or  unseen, 
With  wonders  all  round  of  which  we  little  ween. 

Sometimes,  tired  of  toiling,  we  bind  up  our  wounds, 
Grow   weary  of  muck-rakes,  and   sick   of  earth's 

sounds, 

And  gaze  where  the  stars  in  the  blue  heavens  glow, 
And  say,  Shall  we  ever  from  there  look  below  ? 

0  Earth,  thou  art  fair,  but  thou  art  not  complete, 

1  have  dreamed  of  a  country  more  beautiful,  sweet ; 
And  cannot  help  thinking  of  how  it  will  feel 
When  this  shall  be  dream  and  that  shall  be  real. 


TO-MORROW 

THE  little  child  goes  out  to  play, 
With    hope    and    happy    thoughts    he 
goes ; 

But  disappointments  cross  the  way, — 
He  finds  the  thorn  beneath  the  rose. 
And  tired  at  night  to  bed  he  goes, 
And  dreams  'twill  be  a  brighter  day 
To-morrow. 

The  youth  goes  out  to  seek  his  fate, 

Through  rural  roads  or  crowded  streets  ; 

His  hope  is  high,  his  soul  elate, 

He  counts  as  friends  all  whom  he  meets. 

Alas,  too  soon  the  fancy  fleets, 
Yet  still  he  says,  "  I  will  be  great 
To-morrow." 

Grown  to  a  man,  in  daily  strife 

With  brother  men  for  daily  bread, 
68 


TO-MORROW 


Reality's  too  cruel  knife 

Cuts  all  his  youthful  visions  dead; 
And  night  oft  hears  these  sad  words  said,- 

«  O  God,  I'll  live  a  better  life 
To-morrow." 


In  gray  old  age  the  golden  gleam 

Still  hangs  around  the  fleeting  guest; 

And,  standing  just  across  the  stream, 
The  vision  still  invites  his  quest, 

As,  sinking  to  his  final  rest, 

He  whispers  in  his  dying  dream, 
To-morrow. 


Bright  Day  of  Hope  that  ever  holds 
Our  earthly  joys  just  out  of  reach, 

And  in  thy  happy  hours  enfolds 

Our  dearest  deeds  and  noblest  speech  ; 

Oh,  drop  one  flying  word,  to  teach 
That  life  to-day  forever  molds 
To-morrow. 


THE  COMING  POET 

(A  Fragment.) 

AH,  the  chords  that  only  slumber 
Ready  for  his  hand, 
And  the  armies  without  number 

Waiting  his  command, 
When  the  tramp  of  Truth's  own  legions 
Shall  o'erthrow  the  wrongs  that  cumber 

This  predestined  land ; 
Paeans  following  the  victors, 
Wild  and  sweet  and  grand  ! 

69 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 

Then  a  rhyme  shall  still  a  cannon, 

And  a  stanza  win  a  fight, 
And  a  song  shall  rout  a  war  cloud 

As  the  morning  drives  the  night. 
And  the  "  doleful  miserere," 

Played  upon  the  iron  keys, 
Shall  give  way  to  chants  of  gladness 

And  the  overture  of  peace. 

And  the  theme  that's  ever  new, 
Love  of  man  and  maiden  true, 
Shall  make  eyes  of  women  glisten 
With  such  songs  as  one  might  listen 

To  in  starry  spheres ; 
While  the  blood  that  swiftly  rushes 
Shall  bloom  out  in  happy  blushes, 

Or  distil  in  tears. 

So  shall  speed  the  happy  years, 
The  harvest  days  of  Time ; 

So  the  bard,  in  radiant  tiers, 
Shall  build  the  walls  of  rhyme  ; 

And  ring  the  music  of  the  spheres 
As  on  a  heavenly  chime. 


ARGONAUTS 

WE  come  from  far,  forgotten  shores 
In    sailless   ships,     o'er    soundless 

seas  ; 

We  search  the  world  for  precious  ores 
And  life's  rich  golden  fleece. 

We  treasure  the  shining  grains  of  truth, 

Treasure  the  smile  and  kindly  deed, 
Treasure  the  brightness  of  early  youth, 

And  soon  to  our  homes  we  speed. 
70 


ARGONA  UTS 


We  speed  to  spend  our  spirit  wealth 
In  the  light  of  a  better  day ; 

The  sands  of  time  we  leave  behind, 
But  the  gold  we  carry  away. 


TO  JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 

INGING    and   whistling    on   his    woodland 


e  thought  we  heard  a  happy,  careless  boy 
Filling  the  forest  with  a  sound  of  joy 
As  leafy  aisles  prolonged  each  early  lay. 
The  rustling  of  the  silken  ranks  of  corn, 
The  cry  of  swimmers  in  the  shady  pool, 
Sweet,  moonlight  trysts  in  evenings  calm  and 

cool, 
And  orchard  fragrance  on  his  songs  were  borne. 

Now,  in  the  open  glade,  take  your  own  place 
That  waits  beneath  the  greenwood  tree  of  song  ! 
Welcome   from   those  who  did  not  judge  you 
wrong, 

But  said  "  A  singer,"  ere  they  saw  his  face. 

Take  up  your  reed  and  charm  us  once  again  ! 
Happy  the  land  where  minstrel  notes  repeat 
In  newer  measures,  wild  and  fresh  and  sweet, 

The  simple  themes  whose  beauty  cannot  wane. 

The  scenes  of  toil,  the  restful  hours  of  peace, 
The  cabin  idyls,  prairie  gloom  and  glow, 
Make  lilt  and  sing  till  all  the  folk  shall  know 

And  tell  them  to  the  children  at  their  knees  ! 

Aye,  pipe  and  sing  each  new  surprising  lay, 
And  plaudits  new  if  with  a  greater  joy 
You  fill  the  ears  you  pleased  when,  like  a  boy, 

You  sang  and  whistled  on  your  woodland  way  ! 

71 


THE    CHORDS    OF  LIFE 


TO  A  MOUSE  AT  A  BALL 

YOU  timid  little  quadruped  ! 
Why  do  you  shake  your  glossy  head, 
And  blink  in  sore  affright, 
Like  children  that  fall  out  of  bed 
In  middle  of  the  night  ? 

Nay,  does  it  fill  your  heart  with  shame 
To  wear  this  soft,  gray  dress,  the  same 

You  wore  perhaps  last  year  ? 
Yet  you  can  rank  yon  jeweled  dame 

In  modesty,  my  dear. 

What !    Have  you  no  gay  cavalier 
To  whisper  flattery  in  your  ear, 

Bird,  toad,  or  cricket  ? 
Then  tell,  how  did  you  get  in  here 

Without  a  ticket  ? 

But  now  I  must  be  in  a  dream, 
You're  one  of  Cinderella's  team 

So  cute  and  chipper  ! 
Tell  me,  how  can  I  catch  a  gleam 

Of  that  glass  slipper? 

Mousie,  like  me,  you  love  the  best 
Your  own  soft,  cosy  little  nest, 

Far  from  this  bustle, 
Whose  "charity"  seems  half  suppressed 

By  silken  rustle. 

But  see  yon  giant  with  a  broom  ! 
Intent  upon  your  awful  doom 

An  usher  comes  ! 
Quick  !    Creep  into  the  supper  room 

And  get  some  crumbs. 
72 


TO   A    AW  USE   AT  A    BALL 


Yet  'tis  the  "  shining  share  "  of  Burns 
A  little  "  beastie  "  safely  turns 

From  threatened  ill ! 
Thanks  to  the  plowman  bard  who  earns 

Our  own  good-will  ! 


THE  CYCLE 

THIS  is  the  toy,  beyond  Aladdin's  dreaming, 
The    magic    wheel    upon    whose    hub    is 

wound 

All  roads,  although  they  reach  the  world  around, 
O'er  western  plain  or  Orient  desert  gleaming. 

This  is  the  skein  from  which  each  day  unravels 
Such  new  delights,  such  witching  flights,  such 

joys 
Of  bounding  blood,  of  glad  escape  from  noise, 

And  ventures  beggaring  old  Crusoe's  travels ! 

It  is  as  if  some  mighty  necromancer, 

At  king's  command,  to  meet  a  lady's  whim, 
Instilled  such  virtue  in  a  rubber  rim 

And  brought  it  forth  as  his  triumphant  answer. 

For  whereso'er  its  shining  spokes  are  fleeting, 
Fair  benefits  spring  upward  from  its  tread, 
And  eyes  grow  bright,  and  cheeks  all  rosy  red, 

Responsive  to  the  heart's  ecstatic  beating. 

Thus  Youth  and  Age,  alike  in  healthful  feeling, 
And   man  and  maid,  who  find  their  paths  are 

one, 

Crown  this  rare  product  of  our  century's  run 
And  sing  the  praise,  the  joy,  the  grace  of  wheel 
ing. 

73 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


CROSSING  EAST  RIVER  BRIDGE 

NIGHT'S  darkest  curtains  hang  around; 
Yon  bridge,  a  wondrous  web  of  wires, 
Spans  the  bent  arm  'twixt  sea  and  Sound  — 
Twin  cities  burn  their  beacon  fires. 

The  long  arc  of  electric  light, 

With  steady  and  far-reaching  rays, 

Shadows  upon  the  waters  bright 

The  structure's  cables,  ropes,  and  stays. 

Godlike  its  majesty  and  rest, — 

Mute  challenge  to  the  centuries'  roll,  — 

But  ever  runs  in  fruitless  quest 
The  river,  like  a  human  soul. 


QUATRAINS 

A    CHARACTER 

ONCE  a  fire-shaken  Mount  of  Pain, 
Now,  passion-quenched,  it  meekly  holds 
A  cool,  deep  cup  to  keep  God's  rain  — 
Blessed  by  the  burden  it  enfolds. 

ADVERSITY 

A  fine,  hard  face  has  sovereign  Fate 
Which  frowns  us  on  to  higher  ends  ; 
Transfigured,  how  it  makes  amends 
When  Love  smiles  through  the  mask  of  Hate  ! 

REQUIREMENTS 

He  loves  a  woman  little  who 

Sees  not  an  angel  in  her, 
And  will  not  hate  his  dearest  sin 

And  conquer  it  to  win  her. 

74 


QUATRAINS 


TRUTH 


Truth  is  a  strong  and  widening  stream 

That  floweth  evermore  ; 
And  knowledge  but  the  nearer  waves 

That  break  upon  the  shore. 


TO    RHYMERS 


Be  sure  your  song  is  from  the  heart, 
Not  every  theme  is  worth  your  art ; 
Seems  then  your  subject  worthy  still  ? 
Then  give  it  naught  but  finest  skill ! 


UTTERANCE 


There  is  a  Word,  that,  spoken,  flies 
Echoless  ever  through  the  skies  ; 
Its  Utterance,  full,  takes  all  life's  breath 
The  monosyllable  of  Death. 


CONCORD 

(To  L.  M.  Alcott.) 

I    WENT  to  see  the  Poet  in  his  home 
Where  Concord  guards  its  genius-memoried 

plain, 
Royally  round  its  meadows  I  did  roam, 

For  troops  of  visions  formed  a  kingly  train. 

And  yet  I  did  not  touch  his  honored  hand, 
Nor  did  I  gaze  into  those  eyes  so  wise  ; 

For  thus  I  thought :  Have  I  not  met  his  mind? 
'Tis  better  than  the  "  meeting  of  the  eyes." 

75 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Stay  in  thy  station  like  the  steadfast  stars, 
Or  sunlit  summits  of  the  mountains  hoary; 

Too  near  approach  the  finer  music  mars, 

Ye  lose  the  brightness,  and  ye  lose  the  glory  ! 

The  gold  of  friendship  overweighs  the  dross 
Of  fame,  and  so  a  willing  way  I  wend 

With  her,  the  good,  and  count  it  not  a  loss 
To  leave  the  Poet  and  to  love  the  Friend. 


THOMAS  CARLYLE 

(Died  Feb.  5,  1881.) 

ONE,  the  Hero-worshipper, 

To  the  land  where  heroes  live ! 
One  more  star  is  in  the  heavens, 
And  one  less  has  earth  to  give. 


G 


"  He  has  lived  his  life,"  men  say, 
Yet  his  spirit  knows  not  age ; 

Skyward  longing,  it  has  burst, 
Like  an  eagle,  from  its  cage  ! 

No  more  mighty  blows  of  Thought, 
Roughly  worded,  tender-hearted  ! 

Ah,  that  scholars  knew  their  love 
Ere  the  Teacher  had  departed ! 

Poet,  too,  who  saw  more  beauty 
Than  his  critics  ever  rhymed  ! 

They,  like  beasts  the  farmer  feedeth, 
Shook  the  ladder  which  he  climbed  ! 

Mourn  him  not  in  lines  dolorous, 
He  needs  not  a  single  tear  ; 

In  the  place  we  dream  of,  o'er  us, 
He  is  more  at  home  than  here. 
76 


THOMAS   CARLYLE 


Goethe,  Dante  there  will  meet  him, 
And  his  own  melodious  brother, 

Robert  Burns,  who  waits  to  greet  him, 
Worthy  son  of  Scotland  Mother ! 

Royal  spirit,  take  thy  rest ! 

Thou  art  richer,  we  are  poorer  ; 
Yet  because  thou  hast  been  with  us 

Life  is  manlier,  Heaven  surer. 


REQUIEM 

(Josiah  Gilbert  Holland.) 

THE  sun  climbs  up  the  eastern  sky, 
And  sinks  as  surely  in  the  west; 
No  prophet  now  may  bid  it  stand 
Until  it  reach  its  destined  rest ; 
Nor  may  our  prayers  or  tears  prolong 
The  lives  of  those  we  love  the  best. 


The  noisy  followers  of  Fame  — 
Surely  enough  of  these  are  sent. 

Too  few  such  kindly  men  as  he, 

Whose  actions  matched  his  good  intent ; 

Whose  life  is  its  own  eulogy, 
His  memory  his  monument. 

To  crown  a  brave,  pure,  Christian  life, 
Is  Heaven  itself  a  meed  too  high? 

Will  He,  who  showers  His  gifts  on  earth, 
To  such  as  him  we  mourn,  deny 

A  fairer  home  among  the  stars, 

The  Thousand  Islands  of  the  sky? 

77 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


IN  MEMORIAM 

(K.  V.  F.  C.) 

NOT  to  grow  old  —  it  washer  oft-told  hope, — 
And  when  at  rest  not  to  be  thought  as 

lying 
There  in  the  ground,  upon  the  grassy  slope, 

But  watching  near  us  with  a  love  undying  ; 
A  gentle  presence,  haunting  us  to  bless, 
And  soothe  our  loneliness. 

To  live,  to  work,  to  hope,  to  greet  each  day 
With  cheerful  welcome  for  its  lowliest  duty, 

To  surfer  patiently  the  hurts  that  slay, 

To  make  a  life  of  toil  a  path  of  beauty, — 

This  was  the  lesson  she  was  wont  to  trace 

Before  the  proud  world's  face. 

And,  for  reward,  it  was  enough  to  meet 
A  baby's  welcome  from  the  daily  task ; 

Love  from  a  few  could  make  the  bitter  sweet, 
Pity  from  none  the  brave,  proud  heart  would 
ask  ; 

And  with  the  burden  of  the  longest  mile 

Could  carry,  too,  a  smile. 

A  face  from  which  the  deepest  grief  would  flee 
At  loving  words,  or  looks  of  love  unspoken, — 

It  seems  to  say  :   Now  let  that  love  for  me 

Bear  its  full  test,  and  grief  by  love  be  broken ; 

For  Sorrow's  fullest  blessing  ne'er  appears 

Till  Sorrow  wipes  its  tears. 

Peace   to  the  snow-white  hands  that  would  not 

rest 
Till  greater  Love  had  bid  their  duties  cease ; 

78 


IN  ME  MORI  AM 


Peace  to  the  fearless  sentry  in  her  breast  — 

To  sunny  spirit,  gentle  footsteps,  peace  ! 
Echo  of  storms  or  words  of  worldly  strife, 
Mar  not  her  newer  life. 

So,  as  the  trees,  still  shuddering  in  the  gale, 

Tremble  with  song  while  yet  the  raindrops  fall ; 

Or  as  the  violet  lifts  its  features  pale, 

Knowing  which  way  the  heavenly  forces  call ; 

We  fare,  as  travelers,  when  the  storm  is  by  — 

Our  sun  is  in  the  sky. 


79 


SONGS  AND  LOVE  LYRICS 


SPRING  SONG 

(Suggested  by  Mendelssohn.) 


I. 


WHAT  makes  you  sing  so  gladly  ? 
What  makes  you  sing  so  madly  ? 

Because  the  Spring  is  coming, 

Because  the  Spring  is  near  ; 
When  sweetest  flowers  are  blowing, 
And  merry  brooks  are  flowing, 
And  every  lad  is  going 

To  meet  the  lass  that's  dear  ! 
It's  all  because  it's  Springtime, 
It's  all  because  it's  Springtime, 

Merry,  merry  Springtime, 

Merry,  merry  Spring  ! 

II. 

What  makes  you  laugh  so  lightly  ? 
What  makes  you  smile  so  brightly  ? 

Because  the  Spring  is  coming, 

Because  the  Spring  is  here  ! 
Heigho,  the  birds  are  wooing, 
The  snowy  doves  are  cooing, 
And  rosy  lads  undoing 

The  hearts  that  are  so  dear ! 
It's  all  because  it's  Springtime, 
It's  all  because  it's  Springtime, 

Merry,  merry  Springtime, 

Merry,  merry  Spring! 


"SWEETHEART,  BE  TRUE" 
£1  WEETHEART,  be  true,  what  though  I  stray 
1^      From  Love's  divine,  appointed  way, 
80 


SWEETHEART,    BE    TRUE" 


Still  keep  thy  lofty  heavenly  track, 
To  guide  thy  wandering  sailor  back  ; 
Clear  shining  in  the  depths  of  blue, 
Sweetheart,  be  true  ! 

Sweetheart,  be  true,  though  sundered  wide 
By  forest,  plain,  or  rolling  tide  ! 
Love's  sun  shall  gild  for  each  the  day, 
And  guide  each  love-thought  all  the  way. 
Though  longing  eyes  the  miles  may  rue, 
Sweetheart,  be  true  ! 

Sweetheart,  be  true.     When  God's  own  light 

Shall  drive  away  the  night  of  night, 

Meet  me  with  dewy,  tender  eyes  — 

So  meet  to  habit  Paradise  — 

Where  love  at  last  shall  have  his  due  ! 

Sweetheart,  be  true  ! 


OH,  LOOK  FROM  OUT  THE  STARRY 
SKIES 

(Song.) 

THE  stars  are  gleaming  far  and  bright ; 
The  winds  are  keen  and  cold ; 
The  woolly  flocks,  all  snowy  white, 

Are  cuddling  in  the  fold. 
But  in  my  heart  such  longing  lies  — 

Bright  star  of  yonder  shore  ! 
Oh,  look  from  out  the  shining  skies 
And  hear  me  as  of  yore  ! 

The  world  is  wrapped  in  slumber  deep, 

All  other  hearts  at  rest, 
While  mine,  too  aching  full  for  sleep, 

Keeps  up  its  lonely  quest. 

81 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


And  still  my  prayers  in  ardor  rise 
And  climb  up  more  and  more  — 

Oh,  bend  from  out  the  starry  skies 
And  kiss  me  as  of  yore  ! 

Oh,  what  has  Love  to  do  with  years, 

Or  Death  to  do  with  Love  ! 
Can  Time  o'er-rule  a  lover's  tears 

Or  dim  those  stars  above  ? 
Still,  still,  up  to  yon  Paradise 

My  song  should  nightly  soar  — 
Oh,  fly  from  out  those  lovely  skies 

And  love  me  as  of  yore  ! 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  SONG 

r  I  "'HE  months  may  come,  the  months  may  go,.. 

JL        The  frosty  winds  come  leaping, 
And  silent  'neath  the  driven  snow 

The  hearts  of  flowers  be  sleeping. 
There  lives  yet  in  each  soothed  vein 

The  dauntless  will  to  blossom 
When  pink  arbutus  crowns  again 

The  hills  of  earth's  fair  bosom. 

So  in  my  true  love's  gentle  heart, 

Though  forces  dire  be  waging 
To  draw  me  from  that  breast  apart, 

Her  constant  wa!ch  engaging, 
I  know  that  where  Love  plants  his  seed 

'Twill  grow  to  sweet  fruition, 
And  buds  of  thought  and  flowers  of  deed 

Fulfil  their  tender  mission. 

Oh,  never  yet  a  sun  went  down 
But  came  again  in  splendor ! 
82 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   SONG 


Oh,  never  yet  Love  tried  to  frown, 
But  cast  a  side  glance  tender  ! 

While  joyfully  I  sing  my  part 
In  our  sweet  song  undying, 

There  blends  the  music  of  her  heart, 
With  love  to  love  replying. 


A  MEADOW  SERENADE 

(Tune,  "  Bonnie  Sweet  Bessie.") 

T  F  I  were  a  gay  caballero, 

And  you  were  a  fair  Spanish  maid, 
I  would  doff  you  my  plumed  sombrero 
And  sing  you  my  best  serenade. 

CHORUS. 

Hay  time,  play  time, 

The  sweet  of  the  year  is  for  you  and  me. 

I  would  sing  of  your  eyes  in  their  brightness, 
Of  the  lashes  so  long  and  so  brown, 

I  would  sing  of  your  neck  in  its  whiteness, 
Your  footstep  so  light  and  so  strong. 

Your  voice  in  its  freshness  and  sweetness, 
The  smile  rippling  over  your  face, 

All  the  charm  of  your  maiden  completeness 
Would  find  in  my  ballad  a  place. 

But  alas  for  sweet  Fancy's  armada, 

And  the  dream-ships  so  fair  and  unreal, 

For  I  am  no  son  of  Granada, 
And  you  are  no  maid  of  Castile  ! 

Yet  to  thee,  my  fair  fellow-haymaker, 

I  would  bring  back  the  glad  summer  time, 

With  its  charm  of  the  pitcher  and  raker, 
And  weave  all  in  sweet-scented  rhyme  ! 

83 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Here's  a  song  for  those  innocent  blisses 
When  we  cared  not  a  fig  for  good  form, 

When  we  threw  clover  blossoms  for  kisses, 
And  captured  the  haycocks  by  storm ! 

So  give  me  my  straw  hat  for  sombrero, 
And  with  you  in  a  green  meadow  glade, 

And  I'll  envy  no  gay  caballero, 
Nor  sigh  for  a  fair  Spanish  maid. 


A  SEA  SONG 

SWEET,  for  the  quest  of  thee  — 
Sweet,  for  the  test  of  thee  — 
Bright  shines  the  moon  on  the  rim  of  the  sea, 
While  I  am  gliding  on, 
Striding  on,  riding  on, 

Mad  with  the  thirst  that  your  lips  gave  to  me. 

Though  hearts  be  quivering, 
Though  ships  be  shivering, 

Night  and  its  demons  break  out  of  their  grave, 
Swift  to  my  Beautiful, 
Draw  me,  love  dutiful, 

Love,  like  a  storm-bird  that  laughs  at  the  wave. 

Sick  of  the  motion-dirge, 
Of  the  wide  ocean-surge, 

Brackish  the  waves  of  life,  naught  I  may  drink, 
Only  where,  swelling  up, 
Sweet  waters,  welling  up, 

Mark  me  my  fountain,  your  dear  lips  the  brink. 

84 


WHEN  LOVE   DOTH  LIE   A-DREAMING 
WHEN    LOVE    DOTH    LIE  A-DREAMING 

(A  Song.) 

WHEN  Love  doth  lie  a-dreaming 
His  weapons  you  may  spy  — 
His  arrows  by  him  gleaming, 
And  eke  his  bow  doth  lie. 

But  when  he  is  assailing 

Some  maiden's  tender  heart, 

It  is  all  unavailing 

To  think  to  see  his  dart. 

His  bunch  of  fatal  lances, 

And  eke  his  mighty  bow, 
Display  but  in  his  glances, 

Or  in  his  smile  do  show. 

Who'd  think  that  eyes  so  pleading 
Had  ever,  mocking,  laughed  ? 

Or  his  red  lips,  receding, 

Could  speed  such  fatal  shaft  ? 

O  maids,  who  hope  to  capture 

His  arms  of  sorcery, 
Seek  him  when  noonday  rapture 

A-dreaming  makes  him  lie  ! 

Thus,  when  the  sun  is  beaming, 

Go  steal  his  arms  away; 
For  when  thou  art  a-dreaming 

Then  Love  will  have  his  day! 


HEART  TO  HEART 

TT  EART,  seek  her  heart  who  dwells  apart, 

And  plead  to  be  her  guest, 
That  in  her  grace  she  grant  you  place 
To  lie  upon  her  breast. 

85 


THE   CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


There,  'twixt  those  hills  where  sweetly  thrills 

The  current  of  her  life, 
In  fragrant  rhyme,  forget  all  time, 

All  fear,  or  pain,  or  strife. 

Nor  lightly  prize  light  from  her  eyes, 

Her  smiles  that  sweetly  bless, 
If  fingers  soft  should  touch  thee  oft, 

Or  her  red  lips  caress. 

But  oh,  mark  this,  to  never  miss 

The  tale  her  heart  doth  tell ; 
That  doth  repeat  in  every  beat 

How  she  doth  love  me  well. 

So,  heart  of  gold,  thy  quest  unfold  — 

As  I  thy  course  have  sped ; 
Nor  backward  speed  unless,  indeed, 

She  wants  my  heart  instead. 


ANGEL  HEART 

ANGEL  heart  and  woman  form  ! 
All  my  praise  thou  art  above  ; 
Thou  hast  cleared  my  life  of  storm 
With  the  sunshine  of  thy  love. 

Let  me  love  thee  my  life  long, 
Then  in  heaven  renew  my  song, 

When  thy  day  of  death  shall  part 
Woman  form  and  angel  heart ! 


WITH  LILACS 

I  BEG  the  pardon  of  these  flowers 
For  bringing  them  to  one  whose  hair 
Alone  doth  shame,  beyond  compare, 
The  sweetest  blooms  of  richest  bowers. 
86 


WITH  LILACS 


I  beg  the  pardon  of  this  maid 
For  offering  them  with  hand  less  pure, 
A  heart  less  perfect,  needing  cure 
By  Love's  own  music,  softly  played. 


CAPITULATION 

OVERLOOKING  my  dominions, 
Seeming  near  yet  seeming  far, 
Stood  a  proud  and  stately  castle, 
Ever  challenging  to  war. 

Beautiful  were  its  surroundings, 
Many  a  winding  way  was  there, 

Many  gayly  flaunting  banners 
Fluttered  in  the  golden  air. 

So  I  came  to  storm  the  castle, 
And  with  many  a  cunning  art 

Through  its  windows  or  its  gateway 
Shot  my  arrows  at  its  heart ! 

Then  down  fell  the  airy  stronghold  — 
Perished  in  a  mist  away ; 

Out  there  stepped  a  lovely  maiden, 
And  she  loved  me  from  that  day. 

She  is  free  from  her  enchantment, 
Pledged  to  love  who  set  her  free ; 

So,  in  place  of  haughty  castle, 
Smiles  a  loving  face  at  me  ! 


COLUMBIA 

(A  National  Song.) 

,URE  as  the  air  that  blows  across 

Thy  many  mountains  old  ; 
Warm  as  the  fire  that  drives  the  dross 
Off  from  the  shining  gold ; 

87 


p 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Bright  as  the  stars  that  watch  above 

Thy  prairies  broad  unrolled  ; 
True  as  the  truest  tale  of  love 
That  e'er  was  sung  or  told  ; 
Is  the  love  we  bear  to  thee, 
O  Queen  of  the  Land  and  Sea  ! 
Columbia  !     Columbia ! 
Thou  Home  of  Liberty  ! 

Long  as  we  love  the  sacred  ties 

That  love  has  given  birth  ; 
Long  as  we  love  the  memories 

That  twine  around  each  hearth  ; 
Long  as  our  best  life-blood  to  thee 

Shall  be  of  any  worth  ; 
Long  as  we  hope  our  heaven  shall  be 
When  we  shall  leave  the  earth  ; 
Will  we  pray  and  fight  for  thee, 
Will  we  live  and  die  for  thee  ; 
Columbia  !     Columbia  ! 
Thou  Home  of  Liberty  ! 


DESIRE 

DAUGHTER  of  Dawn  and  of  Twilight, 
Spirit  of  calm  and  delay, 
Hater  of  haste  and  of  high-light, 

Nurse  of  the  slow,  dying  day  :  — 
Bring  me  thy  peace-giving  potion  — 

Essence  of  mountain  and  sea  — 
Give  me  thy  lips  for  a  lotion ; 

Come  —  come  to  me  —  come  to  me  ! 

Others  will  sing  thee  more  sweetly, 

Others  will  courtlier  bow  ; 
Others  will  toast  thee  more  neatly  — 

Bringing  the  blush  to  thy  brow. 
88 


A   DESIRE 


Ah,  but  my  longing  is  tragical, 
Holding  my  breath  till  I  feel 

Touch  of  thy  finger-tips  magical 
Over  my  temple-pulse  steal. 

Yes,  I  was  sure  of  thy  presence  — 

Love  is  the  magical  rose  ! 
Light  as  the  whirr  of  the  pheasants 

Hastens  my  maiden  —  Repose  ! 
Daughter  of  Dawn  and  of  Twilight, 

Spirit  of  calm  and  delay, 
Hater  of  haste  and  of  high-light, 

Nurse  of  the  slow,  dying  day. 


HER  LITTLE  FOOT 

(Rondeau.) 

HER  little  foot,  exposed  to  view, 
As  on  the  wall  she  sits  askew, 
Beneath  her  petticoat  doth  show 
Like  April  bud  in  bank  of  snow, 
So  shy,  yet  daring  to  peep  through. 

I  wot  that, —  though  I  never  knew 
The  dainty  links  between  the  two  — 
Yet  from  her  winsome  face  I'd  know 
Her  little  foot ! 

She  sketches  clouds,  and  depths  of  blue, 
And  trees,  and  birds  of  dapper  hue, 
The  while  I  watch  swing  to  and  fro 
That  foot,  like  fairy  rocking  slow, 
Till,  drawn  by  it,  I  draw  it,  too  — 
Her  little  foot. 

89 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


FOUR  GUARDSMEN 

THERE  are  four  little  letters  that  live  in  my 
heart  — 

An  L,  and  an  O,  and  a  V,  and  an  E, 
And   at   sound  of   your   name  those   letters  will 

start 
And  form  into  line  like  a  drilled  company  ! 

They  are  brave  little  warriors,  faithful  and  true, 
Four  guardsmen,  as  leal  as  were  e'er  known  to 

fame; 
Their  captain  is  L,  and  I  need  not  tell  you 

How  they  spring  into  line  at  the  sound  of  your 
name. 

My  heart  is  their  fortress,  and  every  day 
It  echoes  with  melody,  martial  and  sweet ; 

At  the  sound  of  your  name  their  bugles  will  play, 
And    I    hark  for   the    sound   of  their  hurrying 
feet. 

At  the  sound  of  your  name  they  delight  to  hold 

fast 

My  heart  'gainst  all  comers,  whoever  they  be ; 
They  will  keep  its  green  ramparts  'til  life  is  o'er- 

past  — 
My  four  good  defenders  —  L,  O,  V,  and  E. 


THE    TRYST 

SWEET  Lady,  I   have  watched  thee  now  for 
years, 

Taking  thy  stand  beneath  the  almond  tree  ; 
When  twilight  fades,  when  the  shy  moon  out-peers, 
And  stars  steal  out,  then  also  cometh  thee. 
90 


THE    TRYST 


Yes,  we  are  chosen  friends,  the  stars  and  me ; 
They  are  so  patient,  and  they  watch  so  late  j 

They  may  have  lovers,  too.  Howe'er  that  be, 
True  love  can  wait. 

But  time  is  fleeting,  like  the  silver  light, 

The  fickle  light,  that  leaves  the  river's  breast ; 
The  winds  are  robbing  blossoms  of  their  white, — 

And  ah,  how  lonely  is  an  empty  nest ! 

Yet  time  and  light  and  bloom  touch  not  my  quest  j 
I  could  not  leave,  unguarded,  to  its  fate 

My  rose  of  faith  for  all  the  world  holds  best. 
True  love  can  wait. 

Perhaps  thy  lover  ill  deserves  thy  trust. 

What  if  another  claims  his  wayward  heart  ? 
Then  if  he  treads  thy  passion  in  the  dust, 

Choose  some  one  else,  and  gayly  play  thy  part ! 

Ah  no,  for  love  with  me  is  not  an  art ! 
Nor  would  I  curse  my  lover  in  such  state  ; 

False  lights  may  tempt  my  sailor  from  his  chart — 
True  love  can  wait. 

Still  thou  art  sinful  —  wasting  strength  and  youth, 

Forgetting  woman's  duty,  all  thy  friends ; 
Loving  a  shade,  some  other's  love,  forsooth ! 

Come,  drop  thy  vigil,  fate  will  make  amends. 

/  will  not  slight  my  duty  nor  lifers  ends  ; 
My  chief  love  makes  my  other  loves  ?nore  great ; 

Can  Love  be  loved  too  much  ?    That  me  defends  ! 
True  love  can  wait. 

Sweet  Lady !    Let  me  seek  thy  dearest  out ; 

Such  love  as  thine  the  whole  dull  world  must 

leaven. 
Make  me  thy  messenger,  and  have  no  doubt ! 

How  may  I  know  him  ?    Hast  thou  tokens  given  ? 

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THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Yes,   we  were  pledged  when  sunset  skies  were 

riven, 
With  gifts  of  roses,  by  this  wood-path  gate. 

Till  night,  till  morn,  till  age,  till  death,  till 

heaven, 
True  love  can  wait. 

O  Love  !    My  boat  is  rocking  on  the  tide, 

I  know  the  light  that  flashed  between  our  eyes 
So  long  ago,  here  by  the  river-side! 

Oh,  dost   thou  know  me,  Love,  my   bride,  my 
prize  ? 

O  Love,  if  I  had  drea?ned  such  dear  surmise 
My  kisses  would  have  made  my  tongue  abate  / 

Oh,  write  it  on  the  gates  of  Paradise  :  — 
True  love  can  wait. 


MY  RIDDLE 

Who  telleth  me  one  of  my  meanings 

Is  master  of  all  I  am.  — Emerson. 

THE  sphinx  must  needs  surrender 
When  its  riddle  was  guessed  away  ; 
Could  I  have  been  less  tender, 
When  mine  was  guessed  one  day  ? 

That  day  I  built  and  decked  with  bloom, 

And  ever  so  dainty  art, 
A  snowy  shrine  in  a  little  room 

In  the  house  I  call  my  heart. 

Often  a  little  girl  enters  there, 

Her  face  each  day  I  see; 
But  no  one  else  the  door  must  dare, 

She,  only,  has  the  key. 
92 


MY  RIDDLE 


And  yet  'tis  an  illusion, 

Like  the  lake  in  the  desert  sand. 
God  only  knows  how  the  world  may  use 

The  girl  I  thought  so  grand. 

The  veil  of  the  future  I  cannot  part, 
Yet  something  makes  me  trust 

That  after  this  house  I  call  my  heart 
Has  crumbled  away  to  dust, 

When  the  world  no  more  may  draw  her, 
When  its  mask  has  passed  away, 

I  shall  know  her  as  I  saw  her 
On  that  one  sweet,  summer  day. 


A  GIFT  TOO  GRAND 

T  T  7  HAT  though  I  think,  my  thoughts  of  thee 

Y  V        Find  nothing  with  thee  to  compare. 
Can  Beauty's  fairer  sister  be 

By  Beauty's  garments  made  more  fair  ? 
In  dreams  I  see  the  rose-crowned  hills 

That  hide  in  silvery  clouds  of  lace, 
While  through  and  through  and  through  me  thrills 

The  gentle  influence  of  thy  face ; 
The  loving  lips  so  quick  to  ope  — 

True  sentinels  each  pearly  tooth  — 
The  forehead  like  a  hill  of  hope  — 

The  eyes  beneath,  like  springs  of  truth ! 
Wild  storm  and  wind  may  rack  the  skies, 

And  rolling  thunder  vex  the  air, 
They  cast  no  shadow  on  thy  eyes  — 

I  gaze  in  them  —  the  day  is  fair ! 
What  though  another's  ships  have  sped 

To  search  the  East  for  spices  rare  ? 
I  will  but  bend  above  thy  head 

And  catch  the  perfume  of  thy  hair. 

93 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


So  doth  thy  precious  beauty  soar, 

A  temple  white  and  free  from  wrong, 
Whose  years  but  make  it,  more  and  more, 

So  like  a  flower,  so  like  a  song. 
And  thou  art  mine,  a  gift  too  grand, 

As  if  a  shepherd,  proud  but  poor, 
Should  woo  and  win  a  princess'  hand, 

Or  beggar  find  a  Kohinoor. 


SANCTUARY 

OLOVE,  is  this  thy  own  dear  land, 
And  thine  the  silvery  hours  ? 
Then  knight  me  with  thy  own  fair  hand 
An  accolade  of  flowers  ! 

Now  lucent  eyes  and  happy  face  — 

The  stars  are  in  thy  train ; 
The  lilies  blush  in  their  disgrace, 

The  rose  resigns  her  reign  ! 

When  on  that  temple's  domes  and  walls 
The  tints  of  morning  shine, 

It  needs  not  Love's  muezzin  calls 
To  bid  me  seek  their  shrine. 

From  heart  to  heart,  an  eager  tide, 

Pulses  the  mystic  wine, 
In  such  fair  channel  to  abide 

And  blend  all  mine  and  thine. 

That  out  of  Love's  divine  excess 
New  life  and  hope  may  spring ; 

Out  of  the  spirit's  loving  stress 
New  songs,  new  souls  to  sing. 

1  94 


SANCTUARY 


Out  of  his  rare  array  of  tints 

The  artist,  deft  and  true, 
Upon  a  fresher  fabric  prints 

Thy  loveliness  anew. 

So  time  and  space,  by  Love  impearled, 

Are  swallowed  up  in  bliss, 
A  Cleopatra  draught,  a  world 

Dissolving  in  a  kiss  ! 


THE  MUSIC  CURE 

AH,  Doctor,  your  hand  !     So  !     And  now,  as 
I  hold 

This  palm  that  I  value  so  truly, 
Here's  a  bill  for  your  bill,  though  I   warrant  that 

gold 
Cannot  pay  all  my  debt  to  you  duly. 

Yes,  I  need  you  no  longer ;  the  pain  I  endured 
Has  vanished,  I  hope,  now,  forever. 

You  will  laugh  when  I   tell  you  the  way  I  was 

cured  — 
By  contracting  a  more  ardent  fever ! 

You  have  heard  how  the  women  are  thronging  the 

ways 

That  lead  up  to  fame  and  position  ; 
And  I  know  you  will  frown  when  I  join  in  the 

praise 
Of  fair  woman  in  guise  of  physician. 

As  I  stopped  by  a  door  one  fine  morning  in  May, 
A  song  through  the  doorway  came  trilling 

And  down  to  the  core  of  my  heart  made  its  way, 
Like  a  tonic  both  healing  and  thrilling. 

95 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


It  seemed  to  say :  "  Live  not  for  self,  but  for  me, 
And  your  heart  will  beat  easy  hereafter." 

So  she  cured  me  with  song,  and  with  smiles  set  me 

free, 
And  such  dear  counter-irritant  laughter  ! 

Now,  given  that  one  has  a  palpitant  heart, 

Is  not  a  soft  pressure  pacific? 
And,  if  taken  between  meals,  with  delicate  art, 

Are  not  kisses  a  fine  soporific  ? 

You  said  once  my  heart  had  expanded  too  wide ; 

So  I  thought,  as  it  was  over-roomy, 
I  might  as  well  take  a  dear  lady  inside  — 

And  'tis  glad  now,  where  once  it  was  gloomy. 

I  wish  that  I  could  but  portray  you  my  prize  — 
All  the  grace  of  my  dear  little  singer  — 

But  I  stop  in  despair  at  her  beautiful  eyes  ! 
No,  I  cannot  describe  her!     I'll  bring  her! 

Now,  Doctor,  don't  envy  this  rival  of  yours, 

With  her  pharmacopoeia  of  beauty, 
Since  her  voice  and    her  eyes  work  such  marvel 
ous  cures, 

To  love  my  new  doctor  is  duty. 


LOVE 

THERE  are  only  four  letters  in  "  Love," 
Yet  how  fully  it  speaks  for  the  heart ! 
How  liquid  it  drops  from  the  tongue 
As  it  lets  the  lips  kiss  once  and  part ! 

For  love  is  a  lore  of  itself ; 

The  sages,  unschooled  in  its  ways, 
Though  they  know  all  the  books  on  the  shelf, 

Are  but  simpletons  still  all  their  days. 
96 


LOVE 


Breath  of  flower,  gleam  of  gem,  song  of  bird, 
Blush  of  blossom  of  Dawn  or  of  cheek  — 

Still  it's  love  that's  the  one  magic  word 
That  they  all  wait  to  hear  or  to  speak. 

The  planets  that  never  rebel, 

The  seasons  that,  laughing,  join  hands  ; 
The  showers  that  the  breezes  compel, 

All  listen  to  love's  own  commands. 

When  bird  crosses  bird  in  the  air, 
When  rose  leans  to  rose  in  the  vale, 

When  lad  nods  to  lass  on  the  stair, 

They  are  writing  but  love's  magic  tale. 

When  the  universe  first  had  its  birth, 
Unto  love  as  a  pledge  it  was  given. 

There's  nothing  more  lovely  on  earth  — 
There's  nothing  more  holy  in  heaven. 

For  love  has  held  beautiful  sway 

Since  the  sun  dropped  his  first  golden  bars, 
And  love  is  as  fresh  as  the  day 

Because  it  is  old  as  the  stars. 


AMONG  THE  DAISIES 

EOWN  among  the  daisies, 
All  the  summer  day, 
lids  and  beetles 
A"nd  grasshoppers  play. 
Did  you  never  lie  on  the  grass  and  list 

To  the  murmur  and  motion  of  the  life  below  ? 
I  should  not  wonder  if  they  laughed  and  kissed  — 

They  might  as  well,  for  who  would  ever  know 
What  they  did  among  the  daisies  ? 

97 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LfFE 


Down  among  the  daisies, 

We  together  lie  ; 
Only  you  and  I,  dear, 

And  nobody  nigh. 
Lift  up  your  eyelids,  bonny  little  Miss  ! 

To  guess  my  riddle  you  are  slow. 
Well,  you  know  I  am  waiting  for  a  kiss  — 

We  might  as  well,  for  who  will  ever  know 
What  we  do  among  the  daisies  ? 


AT  LAKE  GEORGE 

yPON  the  Horicon's  calm  breast 
All  day  we  sailed  and  dreamed, 
f ,  as  o'er  Black  Mountain's  crest 
The  gray  clouds  slowly  streamed. 

The  circling  hills  stood  firm  and  strong, 

Like  brothers  banded  there 
In  silent  guard  lest  any  wrong 

The  lake,  their  sister  fair. 

Up  through  the  water  to  the  eye 
The  shining  pebbles  showed  ; 

Sweet  was  the  air,  and  sweetly  by 
The  hours,  like  ripples,  flowed. 

Then  did  I  find  a  clearer  deep 

Reflected  in  your  eye, 
Where  thoughts,  like  islands,  half  asleep, 

Drowsed  in  serenity. 

So  seemed  your  life  so  like  the  lake, 

As  potent  to  allure  ! 
May  it  as  gently  sleep  and  wake, 

As  fair,  as  deep,  as  pure. 
98 


AN  EVOLUTION 


AN  EVOLUTION 

IN  a  nebula  of  Thought, 
By  my  table  I  am  sitting, 
Fairy  visions  round  me  flitting, 
All  refusing  to  be  caught. 

Now,  a  flash  of  charming  eyes, 
Now,  some  witchery  of  dress, 
Or  some  hidden  loveliness, 

Comes  and  gleams  and  fades  and  dies. 

And  I  wonder  if  this  dream 
Of  lovely  forms  and  angel  eyes 
Will  not  change  and  crystallize 

To  a  joy  that  does  not  seem. 

Softly  swings  the  door  ajar, 

Tender  voice  my  soul  is  waking, 
And  a  kiss  my  dream  is  breaking, 

Nebula  has  changed  to  star  ! 


CROSSING  ONTARIO 

ON  one  of  grand-dame's  old  blue  bowls 
There  sailed  a  maid  and  her  Lothario, 
'Twas  you  and  I  —  so  Time  unrolls  — 
Crossing  the  blue  bowl  of  Ontario. 

These  trails  of  smoke  are  but  pipe-wreaths 
Blown  out  by  some  occult  Canadian 

Who  o'er  this  bowl  of  coffee  breathes 
In  after-dinner  bliss  Arcadian. 

Oh,  yes,  a  quite  extensive  bowl ! 

Perhaps  he  lifts  it  by  some  leverage, 
But  then  it's  not  so  large,  dear  soul, 

For  you  to  sweeten  all  the  beverage ! 

99 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


That  French  girl  has  such  pretty  lips  — 
Were  I  the  guardsman,  I  would  want  to — 

Keep  still  ?     All  right.    The  blue  bowl  tips ! 
And  we  are  landed  in  —  Toronto. 


A  LOVING  CUP 

(To  C.  U.  P.) 

4  LOVING  cup  !     Ah,  could  I  fill 
The  slender  measure  of  my  line 
th  that  delicious,  witching  wine 
Your  autumn-tinted  eyes  distil, 

Then  while  my  muse  should  gayly  trip, 

My  door  I'd  dup 
To  radiant  memories,  and  sip 
A  loving  cup  ! 

Go,  take  your  glass,  and  looking  there, 
Confess  your  face  is  wondrous  fair ! 
Then  wonder  when  I  tell  you  true 
'Tis  fairer  far  to  me  than  you. 

For  now  it  fills  my  heart  with  joy, 

Now  drinks  it  up ! 

Why  should  you  treat  it  like  a  toy  — 
A  loving  cup  ? 


A  VISIT  FROM  THE  MUSE 

SHE  dropped  in  by  my  study  fire, 
And  keeping  still  lest  I  offend  her, 
I  watched  the  genius  of  my  lyre  — 
Her  little  feet  were  on  the  fender. 

"  I  just  came  in  to  learn  the  news,  — 
Now  never  mind  about  your  pencil ; 
100 


A    VISIT  FROM   THE   MUSE 


When  I  grant  regular  '  interviews  ' 
I  give  them  all  cut  out  with  stencil !  " 

She  sighed  and  said  she  lonesome  grew, 
Upon  the  hill  where  she  was  staying. 

Parnassus  held  a  varied  crew,  — 
She'd  rather  by  herself  be  straying. 

Loose  sandaled,  with  her  gold  bronze  hair 
Resting  like  sunshine  on  her  shoulder, 

She  seemed  so  wise,  demure,  and  fair, 
I  gazed,  admired,  and  then  grew  bolder. 

"  You  make  me  proud,  fair  damozel, 

Me  on  so  dark  a  night  to  visit. 
Are  you  the  maid  who  serves  me  well 

Or  she  who  flouts  me  ?     Pray  which  is  it  ? ' 

"  I  charm  or  plague  you  as  I  please. 

Why,  sir,  I  thought  you'd  been  a  lover  !  " 
I  think  she  knew,  the  little  tease, 

Phyllis  was  in  the  room  above  her. 

"  And  now,"  said  she,  "  did  you  work  out 

The  thought  I  sent  you,  Tuesday  morning  ?  " 

I  blushed  and  she  began  to  pout. 

"  Forgot  it !  "     Ah,  that  look  of  scorning  ! 

"  They  come  so  fast  that  in  arrears 
I  fain  must  get.     I  know  'tis  wicked, 

I  can't  find  words  to  dress  the  dears 
And  I  can't  show  the  cherubs  naked." 

She  laughed  right  out.     I  saw  her  eyes, 
Gray,  grave,  and  sweet,  of  that  I'm  certain, 

With  smiles,  like  children,  bashful  wise, 
Playing  about  each  silken  curtain. 

101 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 

We  talked  until  she  rose  to  leave, 

I  told  her  poetry  sold  slowly, 
She  said  there  was  less  cause  to  grieve, 

It  showed  I  loved  it  for  her  wholly. 

How  Aldrich  penned  his  Eastern  dreams, 
How  Volk  his  Winter  idylls  painted, 

We  touched  on  these  and  other  themes 
Until  we  got  quite  well  acquainted. 

Comparing  things  that  pleased  our  tastes, 
Great  open  fires  and  cloudy  weather, 

And  forest  walks  and  winter  wastes, 

We  found  our  thoughts  ran  well  together. 

Before  I  knew  it  she  had  flown, 

Ere  I  had  kissed  her  !     What  a  pity  ! 

But  I  sat  down  right  there  alone, 
And  wrote  in  praise  of  her  this  ditty. 


THE    OFFER 

TAKE  thou  my  songs,  O  constant  Friend  of 
Friends  ! 
ey  are  the  bubbles  on  my  stream  of  years, — 
They  are  the  blossoms  of  my  richest  field. 
Through   them    I    rove   where    fair   Walloomsac 

bends, 
And  see  deep,  dove-like   eyes,  all   smiles  and 

tears, 
Reflected  in  my  heart  as  in  a  shield. 


102 


SONNETS 


IN  MIDSUMMER 

WATCHING  the  reaper   in   the    harvest 
field  — 

The  mingled  pathos  of  the  falling  grain, 
And  Summer's  glory,  now  so  soon  to  wane  — 
A  new  life-picture  seems  to  me  revealed  :  — 
How  gently  Nature's  leading  is  concealed  ! 
How  deftly  she  deceives  the  eye  and  brain, 
While  airs  and  scents,  intoxicating,  feign 
A  youth  time  in  the  Year  so  soon  to  yield  ! 

As  we  implore  no  Season  to  delay, 
But  follow  eagerly  the  brave  advance 

Of  bird  and  bud,  of  kernel,  fruit,  and  frost ; 
So,  kindly,  Fate  beguiles  our  haunted  way 
With  dear  Delusions,  that  before  us  dance 
And  pipe  the   music  of   "  The  World  Well 
Lost." 


THE  SONNET'S  CHIME 

RARE  bells  are  they  that  form  the  Sonnet's 
chime, 

Swinging  within  the  poet's  open  soul 
As  in  a  belfry,  from  which  grandly  roll 
Heart-melodies,  entrancing  or  sublime. 
In  star-shine  or  in  storm,  time  after  time, 
Steal  out  invisible,  in  misty  stole, 
The  winged  Thoughts  and  speed  from  pole  to 

pole, 

While  sounds  some  golden,  sweet,  recurrent  rhyme. 

103 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


The  Sonnet's  chime  is  lofty,  pure,  and  strong ; 
Who  rings  it  must  climb  patiently  the  stair, 
Winding  about,  past  windows  looking  far. 

Then  one  may  ring  so  as  to  fright  a  Wrong, 
Or  call  a  wandering  soul  to  suppliant  prayer, 
Or  send  Love's  thrilling  cry  from  star  to  star. 


ASTERS  AND  GOLDENROD 

THE  year  is  like  a  king.     In  winter  days 
He  sheathes  himself  in  ice,  a  glittering 

mail, 

In  which  his  enemies  he  may  assail  — 
Guarding  his  throne  in  cold  and  bitter  ways. 
A  king  again,  aside  he  quickly  lays 

His  helm  and  greaves  when  summer  winds  her 

frail 

But  potent  spell  about  him  in  some  dale 
Where  Nature  acts  her  royal  mimic  plays. 

Yet  to  his  feet  again,  at  touch  of  Frost, 

He  leaps  from  dalliance,  breathes  the  northern 

air, 
Drinks  deep  the  musk  wine  that  the  maids  have 

trod, 

And  cries  :  "  September,  vassal,  art  thou  lost  ? 
Ho  !  I  am  king  ;  my  royal  robes  I'll  wear  — 
The  purple  aster  and  the  goldenrod  !  " 


MAY  AND  JUNE 

(A  Sonnet  of  Summer  Time.) 

MAY  moves  in  her  own  perfume  as  she  trips 
Across  the  fields,  and  with  her  footstep 

prints 
104 


MAY  AND  JUNE 


The  soft  green  page  with  flowers  of  bashful 

tints. 

June  in  the  color  fount  more  deeply  dips, 
And  paints  his  red  on  rose  trees  till  it  drips  ! 
May's  pink  upon  a  breast  of  whiteness  glints, 
She  teases  us  with  promises  and  hints. 
June  puts  the  berry  red  between  the  lips. 


At  last  they  meet !     One  balmy  soft  midnight 
May  yields  to  June  the  scepter  of  her  power, 
Drops  her  sweet  mystery  and  sweeter  glows. 

Ah,  who  can  guess  what  secret  vows  they  plight 
To   speed  the  year  when   May  yields  up  her 

dower 
Of  blushing  buds  to  June's  unfolding  rose ! 


ONE  I    KNOW 

I    KNOW  a  maiden  in  whose  breast  there  lies 
A  heart  more  pure  than  Himalaya's  snows, 
And  sweeter  than  the  spirit  of  a  rose. 
A  child-like  innocence  dwells  in  her  eyes, 
Which  lift  unconsciously  toward  the  skies 
When  she  is  lost  in  thought;  creation  grows 
Daily  more  beautiful  to  her,  and  those 
Who  know  her  best  say  she  is  more  than  wise. 

For  all  her  life  is  peace  and  glad  content ; 
Believing  good  of  all  things,  yet,  like  glass, 
Her  spirit  lets  no  hurt  of  evil  pass, 

Though  free  to  all  things  that  are  innocent. 
So  doth  she  live  in  unpretending  grace, 
And  daily  blesses  all  who  see  her  face. 

105 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


CREASY'S  «  FIFTEEN  BATTLES  " 

IN  this  thin  book,  that  shows  no  crimson  stain, 
We    trace    the   course   of   empire    flowing 

through 

The  ancient  world  until  it  meets  the  new. 
And  Saratoga  mirrors  back  the  plain 
Of  Marathon,  while  Blenheim's  bloody  rain 
Gives  warning  dire  of  weltering  Waterloo. 
So,  too,  rise  up,  portentous  to  the  view, 
Hastings,  Pultowa,  Valmy's  dreadful  train  ! 

How  like  a  line  of  rugged  beetling  crags, 
That  thrust  a  river  to  the  left  or  right  — 

And  sometimes  turn  it  back  upon  its  course  — 
Loom  up  these  battles  !     Likewise  never  flags 
The  human  heart-beat,  like  the  river's  might, 
Winning  its  Freedom,  spite  of  any  Force. 


BY  THE  BURNED  DWELLING 

THE  trees,  like  mourners,  linger  round  the 
place 

Where  once  the  homelike  country  dwelling  stood. 
Once  did  they  wave  their  boughs  in  merry  mood, 
When  children's  voices  echoed  round  the  space, 
But  now  their  branches  softly  interlace 
In  silent  sympathy,  as  if  they  would 
Find  solace,  grateful  to  their  hearts  of  wood, 
For  the  lost  comfort  of  a  human  face. 

So  sigh  we  o'er  the  idylls  of  the  past, 

So  mourn  we,  pensive,  'mid  the  falling  leaves, 

So  pine  we,  vainly,  for  the  friends  most  dear. 
Yet  still  a  whisper  says  :  Be  not  downcast. 
And  to  the  heart  that  all  too  sorely  grieves 
A  voice  shall  say :  Seek  not  your  loved  ones 

here. 
1 06 


WILHELMJ 


WILHELMJ 

OBRIGHT-SOULED     brother    from    the 
Fatherland ! 

On  thy  broad  brow  we  cannot  fail  to  see 
How  royally  Cecilia  dowered  thee 
With  scepter  of  a  more  than  king's  command  ! 
We  are  but  subjects  as  we  see  thee  stand, 
Potent  with  music  as  a  summer  tree, 
While  low,  ^Eolian  "  Airs  from  Hungary  " 
Make  our   hearts  flame  from    embers  they  have 
fanned  ! 

And  now  we  part ;  across  the  bank  of  flowers 
We  look  farewell  with  music's  mutual  glance ; 

Soon  shall  the  chorus  of  the  care-worn  Hours 
Replace  the  strains  that  lately  did  entrance  ; 

Yet  ne'er  shall  die  the  echoes  of  thy  bow, 

Nor  from  our  hearts  cans't  thou,  Wilhelmj,  go  ! 


CONSCIENCE 
T   T  OW  fair  she  lies  in  her  soft-lidded  sleep  ! 

So  step  but  lightly,  let  her  take  her  ease, 
Who  sleep  do  well !    Can  we  her  better  please  ? 
And  meanwhile  are  there  any  laws  to  keep  ? 
If  she  be  mistress,  'twill  be  time  to  weep 

When  she  doth  chide  us ;  we  may  then  appease 
By  saying  sin  is  sin  but  when  one  sees, 
And   sheep    will  roam  when   shepherds   slumber 
deep  ! 

Then  doth  the  sleeper  open  angel  eyes, 

With  strange,  deep  meaning,  showing  that  she 

heard 
Our  foolish  babble,  knew  our  every  deed  ! 

107 


THE   CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


In  that  sad  look  what  keen  arraignment  lies, 

What  Sinai  thunders  in  her  whispered  word, 

The  patient  Friend  we  wrong   when  most  we 
need  ! 


OFTEN  I   LEAVE  THEE 

OFTEN  I  leave  thee,  Love,   and  wend  my 
way 

Among  the  many  strangers  on  the  street, 
And  as  I  scan  each  fair  one  that  I  meet, 
Their  gliding  forms,  their  various  features'  play, 
And  charms  elusive,  to  myself  I  say : 

"  This  lady's  smile  doth  flash  out  very  sweet," 
Or,  «  There  are  angel's  eyes,"  or,  »  How  com 
plete 
A  charm  doth  yonder  Dian  form  convey  !  " 


But  all  these  fickle  fancies  from  me  flee 

When,  hasting  homeward  with  the  setting  sun, 

Thy  perfect  self  reminds  me  that  in  thee 
I  hold  all  beauties  since  the  race  begun ; 

And  how  much  dearer  these  delights  to  me 
To  feel  that  they  are  all  contained  in  one ! 


MARY  ANDERSON 

MILLIONS  of  men  have  said  :  "  Her  face  is 
fair," 
so  say  travelers,  sailing  down  a  stream, 
Of  some  grand  palace,  lovely  as  a  dream, 
Set  on  the  shore,  outlined  against  the  air. 
1 08 


MARY  ANDERSON 


But  little  do  such  far-off  gazers  share 

The  mansion's  beauty,  catching  not  a  gleam 
Of  that  interior  charm  that  makes  it  seem, 

To  those  who  know  it,  rich  beyond  compare. 

Yes,  thou  art  fair,  but  they  have  higher  praise 
Who  thy  rich-treasured  mind  have  looked  upon 

And  seen  thee  actress  of  thy  own  sweet  will ! 

Yet  now  art  thou  bereft  us  many  days, 
And  even  the  Public,  thy  Pygmalion, 
Doth  mourn  its  Galatea,  lost  and  still ! 


TO  VENUS 

IF,  haply,  when  our  sun  has  reached  its  west, 
And  Night  comes,  stealthy,  stealing  o'er  our 

souls, 
It  should  be  our  last  destiny  to  rest 

Where  the  blue  arc  its  spangled  field  unrolls ; 
If  such  should  chance  to  be  my  fortune  bright, 
I  would  not  seek  the  side  of  yon  North  Star 
To  watch  the  revels  of  the  orbs  of  light 
And  catch  their  music  coming  from  afar. 

No,  I  would  hie  to  thee,  sweet  planet-bride, 
And  in  thy  silver  smile  be  amply  blest, 

There  to  behold  thee  charm  the  eventide 
Till  lovers  sped  to  put  their  love  to  test ; 

Nor  care  how  lordly  Jupiter  might  ride, 
Or  swift  Orion  push  his  endless  quest. 


109 


POEMS    OF   HOME-LIFE,   ETC, 


AN  HOUR  OF  SONG 

AN    Hour   of    Song!  Perchance  it   shall   be 
fleeter 

For  knowing  it  shall  not  detain  us  long. 
So  fleet  the  moments  !     Yet  they  shall  be  fleeter 
If  winged  with  music  in  an  Hour  of  Song. 

A  Song  of  Childhood  !     Raise  the  artless  numbers 
That  rhyme  with  brooks  and  flowers  and  busy 
birds ; 

With  merry  romps,  with  angel-guarded  slumbers, 
With  joy  that  laughs  at  inexpressive  words. 

A  Song  of  Youth  and  Love's  divine  delusion  — 
The    strong,   pure   faith    in   one   fair   kindred 

soul  — 
The    touch    that    turns   the    world's    poor,    sad 

confusion 
To  true  delight,  harmonious  and  whole  ! 

A  Song  of  Strife,  of  teeth  set  hard  together, 
Of  hearts  that  press  against  the  spear  of  fate ; 

Of  helms  that  swerve  not  in  the  blackest  weather ; 
Of  lips  that  smile  their  high  contempt  of  hate  ! 

Ah,  sing  the  riches  we  may  keep  forever  — 
The  kiss,  the  smile,  the  song,  the  sky  above  — 

The  friendships  held  so   high   that   friends   can 

never 
By  any  act  deprive  them  of  our  love ! 

Sing  then,  who  can !     Soon  to  our  duller  senses 
A  Silence  on  the  Song  and  Singer  falls ; 

Yet  who  shall  say  with  what  fine  recompenses 
The  sounds  may  haunt  the  Soul's  eternal  halls  ? 
no 


A  Song  of  Youth  and  Love's  divine  delusion  — 
The  strong  pure  faith  in  one  fair  kindred  soul." 

—  An  Hour  of  Song . 


AN  HOUR    OF  SONG 


An    Hour   of    Song!     Your    hands,   dear    ones, 
extending, 

Join  in  the  chorus,  fair  and  full  and  strong ; 
Brave  voices  in  the  last  dear  moment  blending  — 

So  brief  and  sweet  is  life  —  An  Hour  of  Song  ! 


OLD-FASHIONED  FLOWERS 

OLD-FASHIONED    flowers!     They   linger 
round  the  dwelling 
Like  gentle  memories  of  spirits  blest; 
With  kindly  faces,  lovely  odors,  telling 

Of  hands  that  tended  them,  now  gone  to  rest. 

How  fair  they  look  against  the  old  gray  shingles  ! 

No  palace  could  compare  with  yonder  cot, 
Where  the  dark  green  with  purple  lilac  mingles 

In  harmony  that  cannot  be  forgot. 

Old-fashioned    flowers!     They   line    our   garden 
closes 

With  yearly  charms,  like  ever-constant  friends  ; 
The  pansies  smile  up  at  the  stately  roses, 

The  aster  with  the  phlox  its  beauty  blends. 

Ah,     maidens!     Do     not     scorn     grandmother's 

beauties  ! 

No  prouder  title  could  ye  win  for  dowers, 
Than  —  making  life  more  sweet  by  lowly  duties  — 
To   grow,  each   day,   more   like   old-fashioned 
flowers. 

Old-fashioned   flowers,  old-fashioned  friends  and 

faces, 

Old-fashioned  love,  the  one  true  dearest  heart ! 
The  breath  of  roses  brings  me  back  your  graces 
With  sweet  assurance  they  shall  ne'er  depart. 

in 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


OUR  ROUND  TABLE 

T   T  OW  often,  in  the  days  now  fled, 

We've  seen  our  homely  table  spread, 
And  gathered  to  the  simple  meal 
With  pleasure  we  would  not  conceal ! 
Though  not  for  us  the  costly  wines, 
The  red  heart-tribute  of  the  vines, 
Yet  richer  draught,  from  purer  skies, 
We  drink  from  loved,  familiar  eyes. 
What  though  our  fare  is  plain,  indeed, 
It  yet  is  plenty  to  our  need  ; 
We  count  each  presence  at  the  feast 
More  precious  far  than  all  the  East, 
With  spice,  and  sweets,  and  golden  ore, 
Might  bring  us  from  her  richest  shore. 
Our  dishes  old,  of  quaint  design, 
Will  never  cause  us  to  repine  ; 
The  chippings  in  the  ancient  stone 
Will  help  each  one  to  tell  his  own. 
The  homespun  linen  is  as  white 
As  snowfields  on  a  winter  night ; 
Our  candle  lights  as  honest  faces 
As  ever  met  in  kingly  places  ; 
For  jewels,  youthful  eyes  and  old 
Flash  out  a  wealth  that  ne'er  was  told  ; 
For  which  we  hold  in  high  disdain 
The  gems  of  Good  Alraschid's  reign. 
Stranger,  'twould  do  you  good  to  see 
Our  hearty,  homebred  company  ; 
When,  gathering  from  the  haunts  of  strife, 
We  enter  in  our  sweet  home-life. 
The  fervent  grace,  but  briefly  said, 
Unloads  each  heart,  while  bows  each  head  ; 
And  then  all  round  the  happy  place 
Love's  language  flies  from  face  to  face, 
With  smile  and  laughter,  pun  and  jest, 
And  kindly  act  and  sweet  request, 
112 


OUR   ROUATD    TABLE 


Mixed  with  adventures  of  the  day, 

The  grave  discussion  and  the  gay  ; 

Thus  ready  thought,  fleet-winged  with  sound, 

Our  Mercury,  speeds  the  cup  around. 

A  health  then,  knights  and  ladies  all, 

Who  gather  in  our  festal  hall ! 

Here's  Enid  and  here's  Imogen, 

Both  fair  and  gracious  to  our  ken  ; 

Here's  to  our  Arthur  and  Geraint, 

To  patron  and  to  mother  saint ! 

We  drink  to  all  who  couch  their  spears 

In  honor  of  these  later  years 

When  eyes  too  often  lose  the  fire 

Enkindled  by  some  knightly  sire. 

Believe  me,  'tis  not  yet  grown  cold, 

The  blood  that  fired  the  days  of  old  ! 

For  though  we  ply  our  peaceful  arts, 

We  wear  our  crests  upon  our  hearts, 

And  he  who  throws  deriding  glance 

Meets  shining  shield  and  level  lance  ! 


LINES 

(With  a  Book  by  J.  M.  Barrie.) 

A    S  some  brave,  warm-hearted  rill, 
^-^     Though  ice-prisoned,  works  its  will ; 
Melting,  melting,  through  the  hours, 
Till  its  margins  burst  in  flowers  ; 
So  a  vein  of  Scottish  blood 
Surely  brings  its  banks  to  bud 
And  to  bloom  with  blossoms  fair  — 
Kindness,  humor  debonair. 
Since,  then,  underneath  the  mask 
Of  our  English  .names  there  bask 
Streams  that  savor  more  of  sun, 
Strains  from  ancient  clansmen  run, 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Fit  it  is  I  ask  you  tarry 

Here  at  "  Tillyloss  "  with  Barrie 

Painter  rare  of  Scotland's  wiles, 
Scotland's  tears  and  Scotland's  smiles  ! 

BABY'S  PARADISE 

IT'S  always  blue  in  the  baby's  sky  ; 
No  matter  how  clouds  are  hurled, 
e  clear  blue  lens  of  the  baby's  eye 
Makes  heaven  of  all  the  world ! 

She  hardly  knew  when  she  came  to  earth  ; 

The  buds  and  the  voices  kind 
And  the  dappled  light  that  met  her  birth 

Seemed  just  what  she  left  behind. 

If  she  should  vanish  on  snowy  wing 

On  a  June  day  fair  and  rich, 
Hear  first  the  robins,  then  angels,  sing, 

She'd  wonder  :  "  Now  which  is  which  ?  " 

And  what  if  angels,  who  came  to  greet 
This  waif  from  the  world  so  new, 

Should  hear  her  murmur,  so  baby-sweet : 
"  My  mamma's  as  pretty  as  you  "  ? 

TO  A  SPARROW 

"POOR,  lonely,  little  fluffy  thing  ! 
J~      A  gray  mite  in  the  cold  and  sleet, 
With  glossy  head  and  folded  wing, 
Soft  cuddling  down  upon  your  feet ! 

You  know  not  if  the  morrow's  sun 
May  find  you  frozen  on  that  bough ; 

And  don't  you  wonder,  pretty  one, 

Where  your  next  meal  is  waiting  now  ? 

114 


TO   A   SPARROW 


Gaily  you  chirp  and  dodge  the  storm, 

And  turn  your  head  and  prune  your  wing. 

Strange  that  from  such  a  tiny  form 
So  large  a  lesson  there  should  spring  ! 

I,  who,  well  sheltered,  often  pine ; 

I,  who,  sometimes,  have  food  to  spare, 
Am  fain  to  join  my  fate  with  thine 

If  I  might  in  thy  spirit  share. 

Brave  little  bird  !     I  thank  you  now 
For  the  new  courage  I  have  found, 

As  I  remember  such  as  thou 

Fall  not  unnoticed  to  the  ground. 


TRUST 

PLAYING    and    shouting    all    the    morning 
hours, 

Crying,  perhaps,  with  pain  or  childish  grief, 
Wayward  as  humming-birds  among  the  flowers, 
Busy  as  builders  of  the  coral  reef ; 

So  prattles  on  my  rosy  little  lad. 

Can  I  forgive  him  that  he  drives  away 
Thought  from  the  subject,  pencil  from  the  pad  ? 

Ah,  little  man,  soon  comes  the  sleep,  I  say. 

Sudden  I  note  that  all  around  is  still, 

Unvexed  my  ear  by  laughter  wild  and  sweet, 

Unhindered  now  my  pen  may  have  its  will  — 
There  lies  my  darling,  close  about  my  feet. 

Thus,  while  forgetting  what  I  meant  to  write, 
Mayhap  I  learn  a  lesson  far  more  deep  : 

Father  of  all !     When  comes  for  us  the  night, 
May  we  so  trustfully  lie  down  to  sleep ! 

US 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 

A  DIAMOND 

MUSING 

I  lie; 

My  eye 

Piercing  the  gloom 

To  yonder  room 
Where  round  the  evening  lamp 

Lies  our  domestic  camp. 
Bivouacked  about,  each  with  some  task, 

In  the  warm,  golden  light  they  bask. 

The  sisters  bend  above  their  study  books 

The  brother  reads,  and  mother,  with  sweet  looks 

Her  glasses  cannot  hide,  is  busy  with  her  knitting ; 

Father,  with  meerschaum  pipe  and  paper,  near  her 

sitting. 

I  would  that  I  might  keep  forevermore 

The  picture  as  I  see  it  through  the  door  ; 

For,  by  its  aid,  in  some  dark  hour, 

I  may  discern,  by  the  same  power, 

In  one  fair  horoscope 

Love,  memory,  and  hope 

Around  some  light, 

And  make  life  bright 

When  I 

Shall  lie 

Musing. 


STELLA 

OME  from  the  observatory, 

Now  I  take  her  on  my  knee, 
And  I  tell  her  all  the  glory 

That  the  lenses  showed  to  me. 
Pleased,  she  listens  to  my  story, 
Earnest  look  then  turneth  she 
116 


And  I 


STELLA 


Where  the  stars  are  softly  blinking 
In  the  blue  of  summer  skies. 

Ah !  She  sees  beyond  my  thinking, 
Even  into  Paradise  ! 

Very  humbly  I  am  drinking 

What  o'erfloweth  from  her  eyes. 


TO  CLARISE 
yxAME  NATURE,  one  delightful  day, 

I      Cried  :  "  Bring  to  me  my  choicest  clay ; 
I'll  make  a  maid  to  suit  myself, 
In  spite  of  Fate,  the  ugly  elf." 
So  grew  the  maid,  and  all  the  while 
Dame  Nature  worked  she  wore  a  smile. 
"  Not  very  large,  nor  very  tall, 
The  rarest  things  are  often  small. 
Light,  supple,  strong,  my  maid  shall  be  — 
Swift  as  a  Dian  on  the  lea. 
I'll  give  her  just  a  winsome  face, 
Wearing  a  touch  of  old-time  grace  ; 
A  forehead  wide  and  fair  to  view, 
Thin  nostrils,  telling  blood  that's  blue  ; 
Firm,  gentle  mouth,  eyes  keen  and  kind, 
Lamps  fit  to  light  a  lovely  mind." 
Then  Nature  said:  "  If  it's  no  sin, 
I  will  show  I  can  make  a  chin." 
She  turned  it  full  and  strong  and  round, 
And,  lo  !  the  face  was  fitly  bound  ; 
Then  crowned  the  whole  with  dark  brown  hair, 
And  viewed  her  maiden,  standing  there. 

"  Now  you  must  be  a  new  example 
Among  my  models,  fair  and  ample ; 
You  shall  delight  in  country  lanes, 
Where  move  the  fragrant,  loaded  wains ; 

117 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Yet  all  the  more  shall  you  be  fit 

To  charm  the  town  with  grace  and  wit, 

To  cheer  the  weak,  to  tame  the  strong, 

Or  melt  them  all  with  smile  and  song. 

But  ever  shall  your  heart  be  true 

To  the  green  meadows  tipped  with  dew. 

You  shall  the  highest  prize  in  books 

The  mirrored  truth  of  Nature's  looks, 

And  children  in  your  face  shall  view 

Proof  of  a  comrade  blithe  and  true. 

And  more,  I  know  my  girl  shall  be 

A  thrifty  type  of  housewifery, 

A  master  hand  in  every  part, 

Lifting  up  drudgery  to  art." 

So  Nature  spoke,  and  passed  from  view  ; 

The  maiden  wondered  where  she  flew. 

But  evermore  between  the  twain 

The  bond  of  love  did  wax  amain  ; 

Oft  did  the  maiden  list  to  hear 

Some  whispered  hint  of  Nature  near ; 

While  Nature  touched  to  lovelier  grace 

The  charm  of  mind  and  form  and  face. 


TWO  SISTERS 

I  REMEMBER  a  home  by  the  hillside, 
And  a  little  room,  curtained,  within  ; 
I  see  through  the  laces  two  sisters, 
And  one  holds  her  dear  violin. 

She's  a  sister  one  could  not  but  covet, 
With  dark  eyes  that  silently  speak  ; 

Her  violin,  how  she  does  love  it ! 
I  envy  it  there  by  her  cheek. 

118 


TWO   SISTERS 


Of  the  other,  the  silver  soprano, 

I  scarce  could  tell  all  the  sweet  truth  ; 

But  she  looks  there,  before  the  piano, 
Like  a  dream  of  the  spirit  of  youth. 

The  soft-blending  music  comes  stealing, 
And  I  wonder  if  those  sisters  guess 

How  they're  filling  my  heart  up  with  feeling, 
Which  I  never,  with  words,  can  express. 

And  now  into  silence  'tis  dying  — 
Aye,  it  died  many  long  days  ago ; 

Yet  the  echoes  will  often  come  flying 
When  the  soft  winds  of  memory  blow. 

They  tell  of  a  music  diviner 

Which  those  who  reach  heaven  shall  find, 
Which  I  fully  believe  will  be  finer, 

Yet  I  cannot  imagine  its  kind. 

So  I  hope  for  forgiveness  when,  sometimes, 
I  think  how  that  music  will  seem, 

If  a  voice,  violin,  and  piano 
Shall  mingle  within  my  dream. 


A  SILVER  WEDDING 

(To  W.  P.  E.) 

'EARS  with  the  silver  feet, 

Years  with  the  pinions  fleet, 
rhat  do  you  bring  to-night  ? 
Frost  in  the  thick  brown  hair, 
Thought  in  the  furrows  of  care, 
Sown  in  the  day  and  night. 

Years  with  the  sandals  gray, 
What  have  ye  taken  away  ? 

119 


THE    CPIORDS   OF  LIFE 


All  the  fortune  unkind, 
All  the  trial  and  pain, 
Never  to  come  again, 

Leaving  the  love  behind. 

Years,  you  make  all  amends, 
Bringing  us  troops  of  friends, 

With  many  a  silvery  word. 
Yet  deep  in  the  well-tried  heart 
Lieth  the  gold  apart  — 

Wealth  to  others  unheard. 


A  GOLDEN  WEDDING 

(To  S.  N.) 

NO  chartered  right  is  mine  to  speak 
The   words   of   love  when   friends  are 

meeting, 

Yet  truth,  which  brightens  gifts  most  meek, 
May  gild  my  greeting. 

For  if  to  not  another  cause 

My  lines  for  merit  were  beholden, 
Your  names  would  make,  spite  of  all  flaws, 

A  picture  golden. 

It  seems  that  while  the  Golden  State 

Since  "  Forty-nine  "  has  drawn  men  thither, 

To-night,  for  you,  the  Golden  Gate 
Has  journeyed  hither. 

Thus  fifty  years,  like  fifty  streams, 

Have  yielded  ore  in  changeful  weather, 

Since  when  you  staked,  'mid  happy  dreams, 
Your  claim  together. 
120 


A    GOLDEN   WEDDING 


And  now  to  overflow  your  till,  — 

No  need  to  rise  and  pass  the  platter  !  — 

The  nuggets  of  our  warmest  will 
We  gladly  scatter. 

Wise  Argonauts  !     Like  you  we  might 
Be  wealthy,  if  we  could  divine  it  — 

How  our  own  lives  with  gold  are  bright 
If  we  would  mine  it. 

And  through  those  fifty  years  unrolled  — 
Can  you  not  see  it  brightly  glinting, 

The  wondrous,  precious,  priceless  gold 
Of  love's  own  minting  ? 

Well  may  you  join  the  song  and  laugh, 

And  hope  with  us,  with  hearts  the  lightest, 

The  century's  coming  other  half 
May  be  the  brightest. 


THANKSGIVING  DAY 

"XT  OT  once  a  year,  but  every  day, 
]^^       With  hearts  by  gratitude  grown  tender, 
Would  we  thus  pause  upon  our  way 

And  praise  and  thanks  unto  Thee  render. 

Yet  in  this  harvest  of  the  year, 

We  come,  with  hearts  o'er  full,  confessing 
How  all  our  land  is  filled  with  cheer 

And  all  our  coasts  bask  in  Thy  blessing. 

Then  let  us  all  survey  our  past, 

And  note  Thy  guidance  to  our  living, 

Till  each  confesses  he,  at  last, 

Has  greatest  cause  for  true  thanksgiving. 

121 


THE   CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


THE  FRESH  AIR  CHILDREN 

WHO  are  these  pilgrims,  eager-eyed, 
One  sees  on  every  hand, 
Like  travelers  who  have  wandered  wide 
Now  in  their  chosen  land  ? 

Their  pleading  looks  have  power  to  pry 

The  rich  man's  safe  apart ; 
The  frosts,  before  their  laughter,  fly 

Off  from  the  farmer's  heart. 

True  little  missionaries  they, 

Who  journey  up  and  down, 
And  bind  in  closer  sympathy 

The  country  and  the  town. 

For  children  scatter  blessings 

Ever  —  since  they  were  blessed  — 

And  their  unconscious  sermons 
Excel  the  preacher's  best. 

God  sets  a  little  child  above 

The  sage  of  deepest  sense ; 
Not  what  we  know,  but  what  we  love, 

Is  Heavenly  Evidence. 


TICK-TOCK! 

ALL  day,  tick-tock,  the  great  clock   on  the 
wall! 

All  day,  tick-tock,  the  big  clocks  and  the  small ! 
O    clock-man,    clock-man,  make    our   clocks   tick 

right ! 
So  that  they  keep  time  with  thine  all  the  day  and 

night. 
122 


TICK-TOCK! 


All  day,  beat,  beat,  —  the  great  Heart  over  all  ! 
All   day,    beat,   beat,  —  the    big   hearts    and    the 

small. 
O   Wise  One,  Wise  One,  make  our  hearts  beat 

right, 
So  that  they  keep  time  with  thine  all  the  day  and 

night. 


123 


FARM  POEMS,  DIALECT,  ETC, 


PLOWING 

What  time  the  cock,  the  plowman's  horn, 
Wakens  the  lily-wristed  morn. — Herrick. 

GOOD  mornin',  sir!     A  clearin' sky  — 
What  ?     Want  to  talk  with  me,  sir  ? 
You  tracked  across  that  piece  o'  rye, 
But  we  won't  disagree,  sir. 

I'm  sure  you're  welcome  on  this  sod. 

The  piece  was  heavy-seeded  ; 
The  finest  catch  there,  where  you  trod, 

Since  the  old  farm  was  deeded. 

Whoa,  boy !     It's  gettin'  warm  ag'in — 

That  colt  is  just  a-learnin'  - 
Come,  boy !  Come,  Fan,  come  in  !  Come  in  ! 

They're  rather  slow  a-turnin'. 

The  air,  I  guess,  don't  smell  so  sweet 

Where  you  live,  in  the  city, 
No  grass  or  shade-trees  on  the  street  ? 

Now,  that  must  be  a  pity. 

I  calculate  a  farmer  lacks 

Some  things  you  make  a  show  of ; 

But  there  may  be  some  curious  facts 
That  city  folks  don't  know  of. 

You  see  the  nest  on  that  pine  bough  ? 

Do  you  know  what  there's  hid  in't? 
D'ye  know  what  bird  'tis  singin' now? 

No?     Well,  I  thought  you  didn't. 

124 


PLOWING 


You  mus'n't  think  a  pleasin'  thing 

Is  lost  on  country  people  ; 
The  birds  that  in  that  maple  sing 

Beat  chimes  in  any  steeple. 

And  as  for  good,  fresh  thinkin'  stuff, 

Paved  streets  can't  be  so  givin' ; 
While  this  one  field  has  got  enough 

To  last  you  while  you're  livin'. 

Kin  Boston  beat  that  row  of  stumps 

The  little  lot  is  fenced  with  ? 
Who-o-o-a !  Woodchuck  holes  are  wuss'n  mumps  ! 

The  beasts  might  be  dispensed  with. 

You'd  like  to  hold  the  plow  awhile  ? 

All  right,  sir.     I  am  willin'. 
Whoa,  there,  I  say !     Don't  go  a  mile  ! 

You'd  ought  to  kept  its  bill  in. 

What  threw  the  plow  out  ?     Oh,  a  stone. 

They're  rather  apt  to  turn  her. 
I  guess  I'll  go  it  best  alone  — 

You  do  well  for  a  learner. 

Why,  I  have  seen  men  lean  and  try 

To  push  the  plow  before  'em ! 
'Twould  make  a  horse  laugh  till  he'd  cry; 

But  one  fool  makes  a  quorum. 

I  s'pose  they  think  that  Kingdom  Come 

Depends  on  them  for  motion ; 
But  of  the  Power  that's  pullin'  some 

They  haven't  the  slightest  notion. 

It's  like  good  times  to  plow  sod  loam, — 

To  hear  the  coulter  rippin', 
And  the  soft  earth,  like  fallin'  foam, 

Into  the  furrer  drippin'. 

125 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIfE 


But  when  you  strike  a  stretch  o'  stone 

It's  sickness  and  low  prices ! 
The  plow  not  only  shakes  each  bone 

But  kinder  wakes  yer  vices. 

A  plow's  a  contrary  concern, 

A  young  calf  can't  outdo  it ; 
To  guide  the  point  the  handles  turn 

The  opposite  way  to  it. 

Cut  f urrer  wide,  lean  handles  right  — 
You  know  how  'tis,  I  dare  say  — 

Lift  up,  and  it  dives  out  of  sight, 
And  t'other  way,  vice  versey. 

Not  married  ?     Well,  you'll  hardly  swim 

Before  you  go  in  swimmm' ; 
But  p'raps  you'll  find  that  in  this  whim 

A  plow  is  like  some  wimmin ! 

Nags  like  the  furrer  —  softer  ground  — 
Their  crowdin's  apt  to  balk  us; 

They're  like  two  politicians  bound 
To  carry  the  same  caucus. 

The  colt  lags,  don't  he  ?     Ton  my  soul, 
I  guess  the  mare's  the  stronger  ! 

I'll  move  that  clevis  up  a  hole 
And  make  his  end  the  longer. 

Young  hoss,  if  you  don't  stop  that  prank 
I'm  'fraid  you'll  get  a  noggin'. 

This  knoll  grows  quack-grass  mighty  rank 
The  meanest  stuff  for  cloggin' ! 

I'm  blamed  if  quack-grass  ain't  like  sin, 
It  grows  where  land's  the  poorest ; 

Ag'in  a  hoe  it's  sure  to  win  — 
Guess  buryin's  the  surest. 

126 


PLOWING 


I  tried  a  new  plow  at  the  fair ; 

'Twas  neat,  but  I  refused  it. 
This  "  Rough  and  Ready  "  stands  the  tear, 

And  our  folks  allus  used  it. 

Old  plows  and  old  beliefs  are  strong, 

And  good  yet  if  kept  shinin' ! 
Things  that  have  stood  the  strain  so  long 

Kin  stand  some  underminin'. 

I  like  to  watch  before  the  plow 

The  grass  a-tumblin'  over ; 
The  big  and  little  have  to  bow, 

The  June-grass  and  the  clover. 

A  plow  reminds  me,  then,  of  Time. 

Does't  other  folks,  I  wonder? 
There  goes  a  violet  in  its  prime  — 

I  hate  to  turn  them  under. 

But  when  above  the  buried  weeds 

The  yellow  wheat  is  wavin', 
'Twill  teach  that  buried  years  and  deeds 

Still  live,  if  worth  the  savin'. 

A  lifetime  dwindles  like  these  lands 

In  which  the  lot's  divided  ; 
When  the  dead-furrer's  reached  one  stands 

And  wonders  where  it's  slided. 

Tell  how  I  run  a  furrer  straight, 
And  keep  my  sights  when  sowin'  ? 

Yer  competition  would  be  late, 
So  I  don't  mind  yer  knowin'. 

I  set  that  pole  this  side  the  lot, 

Then  start  from  over  yonder, 
And  range  that  pole  with  some  fur  spot 

And  never  let  it  wander.' 


127 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


I've  sometimes  thought  if  we  would  range 

Our  daily  walk  with  Natur', 
Our  lives  with  things  that  never  change, 

We'd  draw  our  furrer  straighter. 

I'm  apt  at  preachin'?     So  I've  heard. 

Yes,  I  'tend  church  on  Sunday. 
Why,  if  I  didn't  hear  the  Word 

I  couldn't  work  on  Monday. 

Ah,  ha !     That  whistle  blows  for  noon, 
And  dinner-time,  I'm  thinkin' ; 

Well,  I  don't  think  it  blows  too  soon, — 
I  feel  like  eatin'  an'  drinkin'. 

Ned's  callin'  me,  my  little  son, — 
Jest  five  years  ter  his  story ;  — 

He  makes  us  seven,  countin'  one 
That's  now  a  child  o'  glory. 

How  proud  that  team  steps  now  that  they 

Are  p'intin'  for  the  stable  ! 
A  pretty  tune  their  trappin's  play, 

Judgin'  as  I  am  able. 

Come  in  the  house  and  see  my  Nell  — 
I  think  she  ain't  bad  lookin'— 

And  she's  just  as  reliable 
At  counselin'  as  cookin' ! 


A  SONG  OF  THE  DRUDGE 

4  SONG   in  my  heart  keeps    on  ringing   to- 
day, 
ough  I  fear  me  the  old  cry  of  "  fudge  "  ! 
Yet  a  bard  has  one  merit  —  he  will  have  his  say  — 
And  my  song  is  A  Song  of  the  Drudge. 
128 


A   SONG    OF   THE   DRUDGE 


Yes,  even  the  toilers  in  kitchen  and  hall  — 
The  many  who  strike  not  nor  shirk,  — 

I  fancy  a  halo  encircles  them  all  — 
The  crown  of  the  Honor  of  Work ! 

For  there  must  be  some    who  will  gird  up  the 
skirt, 

And  take  up  the  tasks  that  are  mean, 
And  valiantly  conquer  the  kingdom  of  dirt 

That  the  rest  of  mankind  may  be  clean. 

For   the   scavenger's  hoe,  and  his  pail,  and  his 

broom, 

Are  the  mystical  scepters  of  health ; 
And    nothing    beside   them    can   long   keep    the 

bloom 
On  the  cheeks  of  the  children  of  wealth. 

Since  Prometheus  got  up  that  first  early  fire  — 
The  precursor  of  many  a  smudge  — 

How  many  have  swallowed  their  ease  or  their  ire 
To  do  that  first  task  of  the  drudge  ! 

And  how  many  by  that  fire  have  roasted  them 
selves, 

With  their  beefsteaks  have  sizzled  and  broiled, 
To  see  that  provision  for  us  —  lucky  elves  — 

Was  properly  stewed,  baked,  or  boiled ! 

Ah,  the  drudge  !     It  is  he  who  lifts  up  from  the 

earth 

Many  lives  into  fortunate  ways  ; 
And  it  may  be  his  work  is  sometimes  of  more 

worth 
Than  the  poet's  who  sings  in  his  praise. 

129 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


There's  our  brother,  the  "  Hayseed,"  who  lives  on 

the  farm, 

With  his  plow  and  his  pitchfork  and  flail, 
Who  must  toil  on,  or  cities  would  soon  come  to 

harm, 
Should  the  "  Hayseed  "  or  hay  ever  fail ! 

Dear  me !     It  is  nice  to  be  called  Ph.  D., 

Or  letters  of  any  such  ilk, 
Yet  if  every  one  boasted  a  college  degree, 

There  would  still  be  the  cattle  to  milk. ' 

O  Drudges  !     Look  up  to  the  heavenly  blue, 
For  your  honors  we  may  not  rehearse 

When    post-graduate    titles    are    showered   upon 

you 
At  commencement  of  God's  universe. 

So,    ladies,    one    moment   from    whist   and    from 
wine, 

And  you  —  minister,  doctor,  or  judge, 

Join  all  in  a  toast  to  this  hero  of  mine : 

Long  life  to  our  brother  — the  Drudge  ! 


"  THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SCHOOL;" 

TO-DAY  I  saw  upon  the  street 
A  crowd  of  children,  poor,  yet  neat, 
Flocking  to  school  with  willing  feet, 

In  the  summer  morning  cool. 
This  day  they  all  will  look  their  best, 
And  do  their  tasks  with  willing  zest, 
For  now  has  come  vacation's  rest, 
'Tis  the  "  Last  day  of  school." 
130 


THE   LAST  DA  Y  OP   SCHOOL  " 


It  sets  me  thinking  of  the  days 

When  I,  too,  loitered  through  learning's  ways; 

Less  fond  of  books  than  schoolboy  plays, 

Always  eager  for  fun  ! 
The  hill  of  knowledge  was  steep  to  me ; 
I  much  preferred  to  climb  a  tree, 
Or,  winters,  skate  the  ice  so  free, 

And  through  the  deep  snow  run  ! 

'Twas  full  as  hard  in  summer  time 
To  watch  that  ledge  of  rocky  lime 
Where  berries  were  just  in  their  "  prime," 

And  birds  were  free  to  pick  them ! 
To  "  go  in  swimming,"  how  we  pined  ! 
How  late  the  sun  at  the  western  blind  ! 
And  those  dull  books,  we  had  a  mind, 

Well,  just  to  kick  them  ! 

«  Old  sow  and  pigs  "  was  quite  a  game  — 
Unless  some  whack  should  make  you  lame,— 
And  "  two-old-cat  "  is  sure  of  fame 

As  any  bard  of  Greece. 
Our  studies  ?     Oh,  let's  pass  them  by  ! 
Farewell  old  "  Bullions,"  too,  but  I 
Remember  when  I  "  cut  a  pie  " 

At  playing  "  Fox  and  Geese." 

Ink-bottles  whizzing  on  their  course 
Would  illustrate  mysterious  force  — 
We  might  be  flogged  till  we  were  hoarse  — 

We  never  could  explain. 
Again,  ere  we  could  dine  or  sup, 
Some  infant  "  Little  Buttercup  " 
Would  mix  our  frugal  luncheons  up  — 

To  our  chagrin  and  pain. 


THE   CHORDS  OF  LIFE 


A  tribute  to  the  dear  old  girls 

Who  lost  our  knives  and  stole  our  curls, 

And  set  our  cardiac  tide  in  whirls 

With  some  soft-whispered  word  ! 
Walking  and  singing  down  the  aisles, 
With  arms  entwined  and  rosy  smiles, 
Ah,  happy  queens !     Ah,  witching  wiles  ! 

(The  lines  are  getting  blurred.) 

You  notice  I  am  country  bred, 

Of  course  our  school  was  painted  red  ; 

Pine  trees  their  needles  near  it  shed  — 

For  bare  feet  quite  a  boon. 
High  hills  we  coasted  in  December, 
Just  far  enough  off,  I  remember, 
To  tempt  each  mischief-minded  member 

To  run  away  at  noon ! 


I've  ne'er  seen  wood  that  felt  so  hard 
As  those  pine  benches  cut  and  scarred, 
With  many  a  rude  initial  marred  — 

The  dunces  had  a  stool. 
With  a  big  red  stove  to  scorch  my  face, 
And  a  sharp-edged  shelf  my  back  to  brace, 
Do  you  wonder  I  prayed  with  fervent  grace 

For  the  "  Last  Day  of  School  "  ? 

Ah,  well!     The  longest  school  terms  cease  ; 

At  last  it  came  —  our  glad  release  ; 

But  first  each  lad  must  "  speak  his  piece," 

In  halting,  sing-song  rhymes. 
The  "  trustee  "  came  to  watch  the  boys, 
Sundry  neighbors  to  hear  the  noise, 
And  criticise  our  bashful  poise. 

Ah,  those  were  good  old  times  ! 

132 


NO   PARADISE    FOR   ANIMALS 


NO   PARADISE  FOR  ANIMALS 

MO  heaven  for  brutes,"  you  fancy  that  is  clear ; 
Then  let  us  make  a  heaven  for  them  here ! 
mortality  is  thus  denied 
To  any  beast  beyond  the  Stygian  tide, 
Then  all  the  more  incumbent  doth  it  seem 
To  make  their  earthly  life  a  happy  dream. 
To  be  a  horse  is  not  to  even  know 
One  is  "  a  horse,"  but  just  to  daily  grow 
From  frisky  colthood  to  the  proud  estate 
Of  the  tall  steed  that  bears  his  master's  weight. 
To  be  a  horse  may  either  be  to  bear 
Curses  and  loads  and  blows  with  meekest  air ; 
Or  it  may  be  to  feel  a  happy  sense 
Of  serving  gladly  man's  intelligence, 
Eager,  all  times,  to  serve  his  owner's  end, 
And  feel  that  godlike  man  is  even  his  friend. 
No,  the  poor  animal  may  never  trace 
His  line,  as  we  our  prehistoric  race, 
But,  ah,  how  well  he  weighs  our  every  tone, 
Checked  by  a  whisper,  startled  by  a  moan. 
None  like  our  patient,  plodding  servant  knows 
So  well  the  difference  'twixt  caress  and  blows. 
The  meaning  of  a  cold  or  cozy  stall 
Is  misery  or  comfort,  that  is  all. 
Not  every  mouth  is  suited  with  its  bit, 
Not  all  the  food  that's  thrown  to  beasts  is  fit. 
If  Pegasus  were  galled  or  starved  in  ration 
He'd  bear  no  bards  to  mounts  of  inspiration. 
Kick  Rover  out  of  doors,  neglect  to  bone  him, 
He'll  fawn  on  strangers,  growl  at  those  who  own 
him. 

No  brutes  in  heaven  ?     Well,  then,  so  let  it  be, 
The  human  animal  must  need  agree, 
Though  wondering  at  the  love  that  takes  his  soul, 
All  marred  with  sin,  to  the  eternal  goal, 

133 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


And  yet  denies  the  patient  slave  in  reins 

Chance  to  disport  on  those  Elysian  plains. 

Mayhap  the  rest  is  best  for  weary  horses, 

Mayhap  among  those  far  celestial  forces 

And  high  delights  we  shall  not  miss  a  pet, 

Nor  ever  eye  for  a  lost  steed  be  wet. 

But  if  it  be  the  seers  may  be  mistaken, 

If  noble  quadrupeds  in  heaven  may  waken ; 

If,  too,  like  Balaam's  beast,  their  speech  regained, 

They  tell  when  we  have  petted  them  or  pained, 

We'll  not  regret  the  days  we  gave  their  fill 

Of  goodly  oats,  or  helped  them  up  a  hill ! 


Resting  with  higher  Power  if  shall  survive 
The  beasts  He  made  in  beauteous  forms  alive, 
I  yet  declare  that  if  I  do  not  change, 
I  still  should  seek  them  on  that  higher  range 
Of  Life  Revived  ;  should  feel  my  eyes  o'erfill 
At  whinnied  greeting  from  some  heavenly  hill; 
Or  some  lost  collie,  faithful  to  the  end, 
Wagging  a  welcome  to  his  earthly  friend. 


JENNIE  B" 

WELL  I  love  to  sing  thy  beauty, 
Jennie  B, 
And  'tis  but  a  pleasant  duty, 

Jennie  B, 

To  tell  how  no  wind  nor  weather 
Ever  strained  the  subtle  tether 
That  has  bound  us  two  together  — 
Jennie  B. 

134 


'JENNIE   B  " 


Ah,  what  pleasant  miles  we've  traveled, 

Jennie  B  ! 
And  what  winding  roads  unraveled, 

Jennie  B  ; 

When  the  merry  sun  was  beaming, 
Or  the  gentle  moon  was  dreaming, 
Or  the  jagged  lightning  gleaming  — 

Jennie  B  ! 


How  one  little  word  can  move  thee, 

Jennie  B, 
With  a  speed  that  doth  behoove  thee, 

Jennie  B  ! 

When  thy  rivals  show  their  faces 
As  a  challenge  to  thy  paces, 
Then  how  passing  are  thy  graces  — 

Jennie  B. 


For  thy  blood  is  of  the  bluest, 

Jennie  B, 
And  thy  step  is  of  the  truest, 

Jennie  B. 

To  my  ears  there  comes  no  greeting 
Gladder  than  the  rhythmic  beating 
Of  thy  nimble  footsteps  fleeting  — 

Jennie  B. 


Though  thy  ears  are  ever  ready, 

Jennie  B, 
Yet  thy  tongue  is  ever  steady, 

Jennie  B. 

135 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 

Whatsoever  cruel  mutter 
•g  in,  that 
i  word  do 
Jennie  B. 


*t*towv- v  wi.      \_i  Lit!    11JULLCI 

My  tongue  wag  in,  that  may  cut  her, 
Not  an  unkind  word  doth  utter 


And  her  breath  is  like  the  clover 

Jennie  B,  — 

When  her  neck  is  arching  over 

Jennie  B. 

As  her  hair  falls  on  my  shoulder, 
With  my  arms  I  there  enfold  her, 

And  I  hug  her  as  I  hold  her 

Jennie  B  ! 


Then  thy  soft,  thin  nostrils  playing  - 

Jennie  B. 
And  thy  brown  eyes  volumes  saying 

Jennie  B  ; 

And  thy  dainty  ankle  peeping, 
Would  compel  a  monk  to  keeping 
Compliments  upon  you  heaping 

Jennie  B  ! 


But  blue  eyes  are  jealous  looking, 

Jennie  B, 
And  my  language  are  not  brooking, 

Jennie  B  ; 

Don't  you  think  that  she  is  silly 
Thus  to  judge  of  us  so  illy, 
When  you're  only  my  bay  filly, 

Jennie  B  ? 
136 


DRIVING    THE    COLT 


DRIVING  THE  COLT 

}  r  I  ^WAS  a  still  midsummer  day;, 

Slowly  came  the  great  clouds  gray 
O'er  the  mountain  chain, 
And  the  wisest  could  not  say 
Whether  it  would  rain. 

"  Harry  Percy,"  aged  four, 
Stood  before  the  farmhouse  door, 

Quite  a  handsome  pony  ; 
Sober,  as  if  pondering  o'er 

A  roadway,  steep  and  stony. 

Then  appeared  a  picture  fair, 
A  little  girl  with  raven  hair, 

So  sweet  you  ne'er  could  chide  her ; 
And  she  stepped  in  the  wagon  there,  — 

A  little  boy  beside  her. 

Off  they  drove  with  spirits  gay, 
In  the  dreamy  summer  day, 

Round  the  valley-side ; 
Not  so  very  far  away, 

Just  a  little  ride. 

Apples  red  the  road  o'erhung, 
In  the  grass  the  locust  sung 

As  they  rode  along ; 
All  the  hazy  valley  rung 

With  the  Summer  song. 

So  they  wound  among  the  hills, 
Rumbled  o'er  the  bridged  rills, 

By  fields  of  oats  and  flax; 
Through  the  woods,  past  ruined  mills, 

And  brawling  cataracts. 

137 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Patiently  the  pony  stands, 

While  he  heaps  the  maiden's  hands 

With  berries  black  and  sweet, 
While  laborers  in  the  bottom-lands 

Go,  whistling,  through  the  wheat. 

Round  them  waved  the  tasseled  corn, 
Other  fields  were  ready  shorn 

Of  their  bearded  grain  ; 
Which  in  the  barns  was  being  borne 

As  back  they  rode  again. 

Only  a  little  ride,  and  yet 

The  "  little  boy  "  will  ne'er  forget, 

But  rather  think  with  pride, 
Of  her  who  trusted  in  his  pet 

And  went  with  him  to  ride. 

And  as  the  shadowy  seasons  glide, 
The  "  little  girl,"  by  her  fireside, 

May  oft  recall  with  joy, 
The  little  horse,  the  little  ride, 

And  the  little  boy. 


TOLD   IN  THE  BASIN 

(A  Canal  Idyl). 

"XT  OONTIME  in  Atlantic  Basin 
J^^       Sailor  lads  in  greasy  dress 
Slid  from  spars  of  stately  traders 
Down  the  forward  hatch  to  mess. 

Rattling  chain  and  creaking  tackle 
Smote  no  longer  on  the  ear, 

Dappled  sunshine  ran  in  ripples 
On  the  string-piece  of  the  pier. 
138 


TOLD   IN   THE   BASIN 


Even  the  grim  grain  elevators 

Seemed  to  stop  their  chronic  din 
Just  to  watch  two  people  talking 

On  the  grain-boat,  Nellie  Gwynne. 

"  Doctor,  howdy !     Glad  to  see  you  ! 

Ah,  the  girl !     She's  doin'  well, 
She'll  be  up  on  deck  direckl'y; 

Have  a  smoke  and  stay  a  spell. 

"  Doctor,  I'd  give  half  a  dollar 
If  I  jest  could  speak  my  thought ; 

But  I  can't  string  words  together 
So's  to  thank  ye  as  I  ought. 

"  Why,  if  you  knew  all  the  story, 

How  it  happened,  years  ago, 
Guess  you  wouldn't  blame  me  swearin' 

That  I  couldn't  let  her  go. 

"  Doctor,  I  could  tell  you  some  things 

That  I  never  told  a  pal ; 
But  I'll  tell  you  since  you  didn't 

Let  the  fever  take  the  gal. 

"  T'was  in  sixty-six  I  picked  up 
All  the  loose  change  I  could  float, 

And  to  keep  it  above  water 

Bought  an  interest  in  this  boat. 

"Just  the  year  before  I'd  married  — 

Wife  was  never  very  strong  — 
So  she  stayed,  sometimes,  with  her  folks 

While  I  boated.    P'raps  'twas  wrong. 

"  Right  here,  Doc.,  you  mustn't  gamble 

Anything  was  wrong  with  her  ! 
Heaven  bless  her  !     What's  the  matter 

With  my  eyes  ?     Sometimes  they  blur. 

139 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


"  So  she  stayed  this  time  I'm  tellin'  - 
House  was  just  b'low  the  locks  — 

While  I  took  my  turn  at  Buffalo 
By  the  elevator  docks. 

"  Jim  Deyoe  was  just  beside  me  — 
You  know  how  we  tie  together  — 

Jim  I'd  always  counted  on  — 
Friend  in  any  kind  o'  weather. 

"  Well,  I'd  just  been  to  the  office ; 

Got  a  letter,  too,  from  home  ; 
Wife  wrote  she  was  f eelin'  lonesome  — 

Kinder  sick  —  she  wish't  I'd  come. 

"  When  I  got  down  to  the  feeder, 
Gad  !     I  trembled  on  my  feet ; 

My  boat  lay  behind  a  dozen  — 
Jim's  was  takin'  in  the  wheat ! 

"  Why,  'twas  days  before  I  loaded, 
And  it  seemed  my  head  would  swim ; 

I've  give  up  all  other  cussin' 
Just  to  damn  that  traitor  —  Jim. 

"  'Course  he  could  have  kept  me  by  him 
Loaded  both  boats,  end  and  end  — 

But  he  took  a  mean  advantage, 
Cut  me  loose  as  was  his  friend. 

"  No,  I  never  asked  the  reason  — 
That's  the  last  I  heard  o'  Jim  — 

There's  a  drink,  though,  that  I  owe  him 
Cup  o'  sorrer —  to  the  brim  ! 

"  Well,  I  started  back  a'  hopin', 
After  all,  things  wasn't  bad ; 

One  hour  thinkin'  o'  my  woman  — 
Then  o'  Jim  and  almost  mad. 
140 


TOLD   IN   THE   BASIN 


"  Couldn't  find  a  man  with  gumption, 

Somehow,  fit  to  run  the  boat ; 
And  as  captain  I  was  holdin' 

Fer  the  cargo  when  afloat. 

"  Ever  much  to  star-gaze,  Doctor  ? 

I'd  mind  deck  there  in  the  night, 
Hold  the  tiller  and  just  watch  'em 

Till  they  faded  out  o'  sight. 

"  And  I  guess  they  made  me  patient, 

Or  I'd  never  stood  it  all ; 
Doc.,  when  one  is  in  a  hurry, 

Hang  a  mule  and  the  canawl ! 

"  Well,  I  missed  her  light  a-burnin' 
When  we  stopped  above  the  locks, 

I  made  one  run  fer  that  cottage  — 
In  I  goes  and  never  knocks. 

"  Oh,  you're  used  to  jest  such  stories, 

But  I'll  finish  —  once  begun  — 
Most  men  never  lose  but  one  wife  — 

And  I'll  never  lose  but  one. 

"  There  were  two  a-waitin'  fer  me  — 

One  was  dead  and  one  asleep ; 
She  had  left  her  little  pictur', 

In  that  girl  fer  me  to  keep. 

"  I  have  told  ye  all  the  story  — 

Jim's  name,  yes  —  t'was  Jim  Deyoe. 

Yours,  too  ?     That's  so  — I  forgot  it  — 
Gurus,  ain't  it  now  —  by  Joe  ! 

"  What  ?     You  knew  him  ?     He  your  father  ? 

He  the  man  ?     Go  slow  !  you  say 
He  fell  off  —  drowned  in  the  Hudson 
When  the  towboat  broke  away  ? 

141 


THE   CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


"  Say,  I  couldn't  stand  no  triflin' ! 

But  I've  always  stood  the  truth. 
Jim  !  Jim  Deyoe  !     Then  it's  gospel 

He's  the  man  that  saved  my  Ruth. 

"  Why,  when  that  big  hawser  parted, 

All  the  boats  began  to  spread, 
Ruth  fell  in  —  then  some  one  caught  her  — 

But  the  boats  closed  o'er  his  head. 

"  Well,  well,  well !    Now  what's  forgiveness  ? 

I  would  throw  Jim  now  a  line, 
But  his  dock's  paid  in  a  basin 

When  his  craft's  ahead  o'  mine. 

"  Doctor!     There's  your  bill  —  you  take  it. 

Make  it  foot  a  little  more  — 
Savin'  Ruth  twice  in  succession  — 

But  it  can't  be  paid  in  ore. 

"  Eh  ?     You  want  the  girl  ?     Well,  really, 
Now  ye  tech  me  !     Well,  well,  well ! 

Guess  the  boat  without  the  bird  in 
Would  be  like  an  empty  shell. 

"  Ruth,  sir?     Why,  she's  like  her  mother  — 
Jest  that  trim-like,  in  her  wrap  — 

When  we  go  to  th'  floatin'  chapel, 
Or  to  hear  old  Halsey  Knapp, 

"  You  would  see  the  people  lookin' — 
And  I  sized  up  what  it  meant  — 

That  canal-boats  could  hold  beauties 
If  they  didn't  pay  high  rent. 

"  Guess  the  gang-plank  could  tell  stories 

Of  consid'able  many  feet 
Come  to  visit  Ruthie's  cabin 

Cos  'twas  brightest  in  the  fleet. 

142 


TOLD   IN   THE  BASIN 


"  But  you're  tirin'  o'  my  talkin', 
And  you'd  rather  list  to  her'n ; 

As  to  me,  I'll  stick  the  closer 
To  the  name  upon  the  stern. 

"  If  she  says  so,  Doctor,  take  her, 

Keep  her.     Come  here,  daughter  Ruth. 

If  she  loves  ye  she  will  say  it  — 
She's  a  girl  as  speaks  the  truth." 

Noontime  in  Atlantic  Basin  — 

Sailor  lads  in  greasy  dress 
Slid  from  spars  of  stately  traders 

Down  the  forward  hatch  to  mess. 

Rattling  chain  and  creaking  tackle 

Smote  no  longer  on  the  ear ; 
Dappled  sunshine  ran  in  ripples 

On  the  stringpiece  of  the  pier  ; 

While  the  grim  old  elevators 

Seemed  to  stop  their  chronic  din 

Just  to  watch  two  people  talking 

On  the  grain-boat  —  Nellie  Givynne. 


THE  HORNIN' 

WHEN  Silas  married  Rhody  Spence, 
Folks  thought  'twas  kind  o'  funny ; 
They  argied  he  was  lackin'  sense, 
Cos  she  was  lackin'  money. 

But  pretty  ?     Bless  ye  !     She  was  pink 

An'  plump  as  any  pippin  ; 
An'  when  she  giv'  Si'  Blois  the  wink 

She  sent  three  others  skippin'. 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


Now,  lots  o'  girls  aroun'  our  place 

Had  set  their  caps  for  Silas, 
An'  'twixt  his  money  an'  her  face 

Things  seemed  to  sort  o'  rile  us. 

Them  was  the  days  when  weddin'  rings 
Was  weighed  by  friends  and  minions 

An'  one  might  cross  an  angel's  wings 
Before  his  neighbor's  'pinions. 

They  had  the  infare  on  the  hill  — 
The  house  of  his  Aunt  Hanner's. 

My  !     Splendid  doin's,  dress  to  kill, 
An'  all  your  comp'ny  manners  ! 

But  Ransom  Hunt,  says  he  to  me, 
"  There'll  be  fun  yet  'fore  mornin'." 

She'd  mittened  Ransom,  don't  ye  see? 
So  he  got  up  a  hornin'. 

Oh,  now  dew  tell !     In  all  the  land 
No  one  blamed  Si'  fer  cursin'. 

You'd  thought  'twas  Satan's  cornet  band 
Was  in  the  yard  rehearsin' ! 

Fer  Ransom  bought  a  big  sea-shell 
Would  make  a  graveyard  quiver, 

An'  Dave,  his  fish  horn,  we  hear  well 
When  he's  daown  by  the  river. 

Wes'  Pettit  beat  an  old  tin  pan, 

Some  boys  was  caterwaulin', 
An'  'Lijah  hitched  some  dogs  as  ran 

With  strings  o'  bells  a  haul  in'. 

Then  folks  inside  looked  queer,  ye  know, 
An'  laughed  (behind  ther  noses) ; 

As  fer  the  bride,  a  squall  o'  snow 
Had  settled  on  her  roses. 

144 


THE   HORNIN' 


Si'  got  his  gun  an'  swore  he'd  shoot 

Until  he  blowed  the  end  off ; 
But  Manner  cammed  him  daown  real  cute, 

Said  'twas  a  fust-rate  send-off. 

The  horners  in  the  yard  had  see 

Si'  finger  with  the  trigger, 
An'  got  behind  an  apple  tree, 

An'  wish't  the  tree  was  bigger  ! 

But  Silas  asked  the  boys  inside  — 
They  made  the  sweet-cake  shiver  — 

An'  Ransom  up  an'  kissed  the  bride  ! 
My,  what  a  smack  he  giv'  her ! 

Then  all  arow,  an'  han'  an'  toe, 

An'  bow  low  to  the  fairest ; 
Across  an'  back,  an'  round  you  go, — 

That  reel  was  jest  the  rarest ! 

An'  then  we  left  'em  to  their  choice, 
An'  "wish  ye  joy,"  sez  Ransom. 

Si'  wan't  so  bad  a  feller,  boys, 

Now  he  just  come  daown  hansum ! 


PATRIOTIC    VERSE, 


THEN  AND    NOW 

(For  Decoration  Day.) 

IN  haughty  and  defiant  mood, 
With  armor  flashing,  swords  upraised, 
Majestic,  terrible,  they  stood, 

And  in  their  eyes  the  anger  blazed  ! 

Virginia,  beautiful  and  proud, 
Georgia  and  Texas,  starry  browed, 
Met  Massachusetts's  azure  rays, 
And  New  York's  unrelenting  gaze. 

No  words  can  weigh  the  woe  they  made, 
Or  measure  all  the  blood  that  flowed  ; 

Each  heard  a  call,  and  each  obeyed, 
And  madly,  blindly,  onward  strode. 

What  of  the  men  who  led  them  wrong  ? 

Yet  Justice  turned  their  plans  to  naught ; 
God  touched  the  scale,  the  weak  grew  strong, 

And  Freedom's  miracle  was  wrought. 

And  now  the  nun-like,  soothing  years 

Have  bound  the  wounds,  the  spirits  healed, 

And  who  would  chase  the  clouds,  the  tears, 
When  Peace  in  beauty  stands  revealed  ? 

The  true  forbearance  and  respect, 
The  love  that  levels  steeps  of  hate 

Have  built  again  the  temple  wrecked  — 
The  harmony  that  makes  us  great. 

Praise  for  the  South  !     From  bended  knee 

She  rises  now  to  start  anew, 
As  with  a  smile,  right  royally, 

She  clasps  the  hand  that  overthrew. 
146 


THEN  AND   NOW 


But  stay  !     Is  there  a  North  or  South  ? 

Who'll  give  the  ground  to  hold  the  line 
'Twixt  mighty  Mississippi's  mouth 

And  snowy  Maine's  most  northern  pine  ? 

For  with  a  feeling  deep  and  true, 

In  sympathy,  at  least,  to-day, 
Fall  southern  roses  o'er  the  blue, 

And  northern  violets  o'er  the  gray. 

I  see  the  States  as  if  they  met 
And  mingled  in  the  minuet, 
Scattering  flowers  and  stepping  slow, 
While  Peace  and  Love  their  bugles  blow  ! 

For  South  is  North  and  North  is  South, 
That  which  divided  binds  them  round, 

And  swallows  court  the  cannon's  mouth, 
Hid  in  a  honeysuckle  mound. 


WASHINGTON 

(Feb.  22,  1891.) 

MOUNT  unmeasured  by  its  peers, 

We  trace  its  shadow  hurled, 
AncTsay  it  falls  a  hundred  years 
And  reaches  round  the  world ! 

Our  Knight !     Of  patient,  ample  mind  ; 

A  form  of  hero  part ; 
And  face  so  firm  it  seemed  to  bind 

The  courage  of  his  heart. 

No  greater  in  his  task  divine 

Than  great  in  little  things ; 
'Twas  this  that  made  his  greatness  shine 

Preeminent  o'er  kings. 

H7 


THE    CHORDS  OF  LIFE 


On  gold  and  bronze  in  honored  state 
His  face  for  years  has  shone, 

Stamp  deeper,  day  we  celebrate, 
His  nature  on  our  own. 

Had  he  foreseen  what  years  have  brought 
Would  he  have  changed  his  part? 

He  bore  a  nation  in  his  thought 

Its  life-beat  in  his  heart. 


GRANT 

OUR  warrior  went  to  meet  the  foe 
With  good  stout  heart  and  steadfast  face, 
Becoming  one  with  whom  did  go 

Hopes,  prayers,  the  freedom  of  a  race  ! 

Our  warrior  played  the  hero's  part, 

Returned  the  conquered  chief  his  sword, 

And  won  again  his  humbled  heart 
By  kindly  soldier  act  and  word. 

Our  warrior  met  a  deadlier  foe 

More  grim  and  terrible  than  he 

Whose  sword  was  charmed  'gainst  any  blow, 

Who  met  his  gaze  and  would  not  flee. 

Oh,  dreadful  Fate,  that  overthrew 

The  blade  that  flashed  when  Vicksburg  fell ! 

Be  generous  as  him  you  slew ; 

Give  him  the  sword  he  wore  so  well ! 

Commissioned  now  anew,  he  stands, 

Our  Nation's  Guard,  like  adamant; 
And  swords  shall  fall  from  hostile  hands, 

When  armies  shout  the  name  of  GRANT. 

148 


A    KNIGHT  OF  GOLD 


A  KNIGHT  OF    GOLD 

(Tune  —  "  Maryland,  My  Maryland.") 

ON  Ohio's  prairies  wide, 
There  Columbia  raises 
Presidents  that  give  her  pride  — 

Let  us  sing  their  praises ! 
Garfield,  martyr  —  hero  bold, 

Hayes,  the  true  and  steady; 
McKinley,  with  a  heart  of  gold, 
Soldiers  all  and  ready ! 

CHORUS. 

Hurrah  !  then  for  our  warrior  bold, 

For  he's  not  plated  thinly ; 
Protection's  knight,  with  mail  of  gold, 

Invincible  McKinley! 

Every  mountain  stream  that  pours 

Past  the  spindles  flying, 
Every  ship  that  leaves  our  shores, 

Through  the  billows  plying, 
Every  shepherd  with  his  sheep, 

Sing  your  praises  inly, 
Those  that  delve  and  those  that  reap 

Sound  your  praise  —  McKinley  ! 

Where  Columbia's  banner  floats 

From  ocean  unto  ocean, 
Let  us  all,  by  loyal  votes, 

Keep  it  still  in  motion ! 
Let  us  keep  her  honor  bright, 

Keep  her  credit  golden, 
While  her  stars,  like  gems  of  light, 

All  her  sons  embolden ! 

149 


THE   CHORDS  OF  LIFE 


ELECTION  DAY 

^TEADY!     Mark  time!    And  forward  every 
^^  man ! 

^  Eyes  on  the  foe,  care  not  for  the  beholder ! 
So  move  to  victory  like  the  starry  van, 

Close     ranked,    resistless,     shoulder     touching- 
shoulder  ! 

Waterloo,  Sedan,  and  Gettysburg  were  won 
By  armies  not  so  mighty  as  we  bring. 

What  if  we  bear  a  ballot  for  a  gun  ? 

Yet  'tis  the  sword  and  scepter  of  a  king. 

Strike  straight  and  strong  on   Error's  hardened 
pate ! 

Strike  as  they  struck,  our  good  colonial  sires ! 
Strike  for  our  Honor,  for  our  Land  and  State, 

Strike  for  America  and  her  altar  fires ! 

Steady  !     Mark  time  !     And  forward  every  man ! 

Eyes  on  the  foe,  care  not  for  the  beholder ! 
So  move  to  victory  like  the  starry  van, 

Close    ranked,    resistless,      shoulder    touching 
shoulder ! 


CUBA  LIBRE 

UBA  Libre  !  "     Hear  our  daughter  o'er  the 

water  bravely  cry, 
While  the  smoke  that  never  falters  from  her  altars 

stains  the  sky ; 
While  the  aged,  and  the  children,  and  the  women 

stricken,  reel ; 
"  Cuba  Libre  !  "  is  their  answer  to  the  tyrant's  fatal 

steel. 
150 


CUBA   LIBRE 


"  Cuba  Libre  !  "     At  her  option,  by  adoption,  she 

is  ours ; 
Bound  to  us  by  cords  of  freedom  mightier  than 

earthly  powers ! 
She  is  hoping,  she  is  groping,  through  the  murk  of 

slavery's  air. 
Shall  we  by  our  deafness  drive  her  to  the  silence 

of  despair  ? 


"  Cuba  Libre ! "  shouts  Maceo,  riding  to  a  martyr's 

death ; 
"  Cuba  Libre  !  "  smiles  Bandera,  victor  in  his  latest 

breath ! 
"  Cuba,  wilt  thou  bow  thy  head  ?  on  royal  promises 

rely?" 
"  Cuba  Libre  !  "     Hear  a  nation  saying  she  would 

rather  die ! 


"  Cuba  Libre  !  "     Hear  the  mountains  echo  back 

the  patriot  boast ; 
"  Cuba  Libre  !  "  sing  the  waves  along  two  thousand 

miles  of  coast ! 
O'er  the  water  hear  our  daughter  saying  :  "  Mother, 

from  thy  brow, 
I  have  caught  the  rays  of  freedom,  you  may  not 

disown  me  now  ?  " 


Valiant  daughter,  o'er  the  water,  we  have  heard 

thy  moving  voice, 
And  the  glory  of  thy  story  makes  a  patriot  land 

rejoice ! 
Five  and  forty  stars  of  ours  salute  thee  o'er  the 

tumbling  sea, 
Pledge  their  forces  in  their  courses  'til  thy  single 

star  is  free ! 


THE    CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


A  SOLDIER'S  SONG 

WHERE    the     dull    wheels    jar    and 
jostle, 

And  the  tramways  ring  and  roar, 
Here,  like  some  town-prisoned  throstle, 

I  have  drifted  to  your  door. 
Like  a  bird  I  wait  your  giving, 
Like  a  bird  I  wait  not  long, 
Song  and  flight  must  yield  a  living 
To  a  life  of  flight  and  song ! 

Yes,  the  blue  cap,  rent  and  ragged, 

Hardly  holds  the  pennies  now  ; 
There  in  front,  that  hole  so  jagged, 

Mates  a  sword-cut  on  my  brow. 
No  more  war  for  me  !     I  gladly 

Limp  along  or  stiffly  sit, 
While  the  leg  I  need  so  badly 

Helps  to  fill  a  rifle-pit. 

As  the  echoes  climb  like  lovers, 

Tremble  o'er  the  city's  din, 
And  my  song,  a  lost  bird,  hovers 

At  your  window,  enters  in. 
Gentle  people,  while  I  linger, 

And  my  cadences  entreat, 
Give  me,  like  a  feathered  singer, 

Bread,  for  singers  fain  must  eat. 

Bread  or  pennies,  e'en  a  blossom, 

So  'tis  thrown  with  feelings  warm, 
I  will  catch  as  did  my  bosom 

Bullets  in  the  battle-storm. 
Only  let  the  song  I  send  you 

Find  you  heed  a  soldier's  lay  — 
Thanks,  good  lady,  God  attend  you, 

You  have  brightened  all  my  day  ! 
152 


A    SOLDIER'S  SONG 


Ah,  good  people,  to  what  other 

Shall  I  sing  the  same  old  song, 
Begging  pity  for  a  brother 

Maimed  in  life's  remorseless  throng? 
Shall  I  tell  my  heart  is  longing 

For  a  music  grand  and  new, 
Where  the  soldier  hosts  are  thronging 

To  their  Captain's  grand  review  ? 


PROGRESS 

WHAT'S  a  gem  to  Irish  renters, 
When  they  want  its  worth  in  bread  ? 
What  are  cars  to  sick  inventors , 
If  they  jar  their  dying  bed? 


Though  you  gain  a  proud  ascendance 

O'er  some  theory  effete, 
Can  you  sever  your  dependence 

On  the  man  who  sows  the  wheat  ? 


Does  some  savant  —  fossils  turning  — 
Rank  the  man  who  turns  the  sod? 

Can  you  in  the  hill  of  learning 
Burrow  out  of  sight  of  God  ? 


Progress?     Yes,  in  simple  living ; 

Love  that  shines  from  door  to  door ; 
Open  lives  and  secret  giving 

For  the  helping  of  the  poor. 

153 


THE   CHORDS   OF  LIFE 


AT  GREELEY'S   GRAVE 

(Greenwood  Cemetery,  August,  1880.) 

THE  fountain  babbles  on  the  hill, 
The  wind  among  the  leaves  is  sighing 
But  he  is  silent,  low,  and  still, 

Beyond  this  life  of  toilsome  trying. 

Fair  is  the  rest  he  found  at  length 

Where  Nature  prints  with  silent  press, 

Where  oak  trees  tell  his  rugged  strength 
And  blossoms  speak  his  kindliness. 

His  love  of  right,  his  love  for  men, 
Shed  round  his  name  true  holiness ; 

Though  kingly  with  his  flashing  pen, 
He  wore  the  garb  of  lowliness. 

His  own  great  monument  he  wrought : 

The  broken  fetters  of  the  slave, 
The  championship  of  highest  thought 

The  words  he  spake,  the  gifts  he  gave, 

And  gratitude  from  high  and  low 

His  memory  will  ever  grace ; 
His  grand  memorial  shall  grow 

With  the  uplifting  of  the  race. 

So  Death  brings  honors  to  the  brave, 
And  Time,  at  last,  is  just  and  true; 

The  grass  is  worn  about  his  grave 
By  pilgrims  whom  he  never  knew. 

His  spirit  lives  and  speaks  again, 
And  it  shall  live  in  endless  youth ; 

Long  as  the  million  hearts  of  men 
Shall  welcome  all  the  words  of  truth ! 

154 


AJ    GREELEY'S   GRAVE 


Sleep,  silent  dust,  in  safety  sleep, 
Peacefully  rest,  secure  and  still, 

Here  where  the  breezes  softly  sweep, 
And  waters  murmur  on  the  hill. 


INTEGER 

President  James  A.  Garfield. 
(Died,  Sept.  19,  1881.) 

A  KIND  hand  out  of  reach, 
Silence  instead  of  speech, 
Our  greatest  heart  forever  laid  at  rest ; 
Only  the  lesson  left 
To  millions  now  bereft, 

How  grand  it  is  to  take  Life  at  its  best. 

Who  has  the  fitting  word, 
When  every  breast  is  stirred 

With  sorrow  far  too  deep  for  words  to  tell  ? 
Yet,  as  amid  Death's  gloom, 
Friends  whisper  in  the  room, 

We  speak  of  him  who  lived  and  died  so  well. 

Night  reigned  beside  the  sea, 
When  morning  came  to  thee, 

Long-waiting  heart,  so  patient  and  so  brave ! 
Light  fell  upon  thy  door, 
Pain  ceased  forevermore, 

Back  to  its  Maker  fled  the  life  He  gave. 

Like  messengers  in  quest, 
Then  started  east  and  west 

Two  tidal  waves  of  sorrow  'round  the  world. 
Millions  of  eyes  were  wet 

*  Horace's  "  Integer  Vitae"  was  a  favorite  poem  with  President 
Garfield. 

155 


THE    CHORDS  OF   LIFE 


Before  the  tidings  met 

Where  in  the  Eastern  seas  our  flags  are  furled. 


Quickly,  through  throbbing  wire, 
Those  waves  of  sorrow  dire 

Awoke  across  the  land  the  mournful  bells ; 
Men  roused  and  could  not  sleep, 
For,  pulsing  strong  and  deep, 

All    hearts   that   knew    were    ringing    funeral 
knells. 


Wives  gazed  in  husbands'  eyes, 
And  tears  would  slowly  rise 

For  her  who  fought  with  Death  so  long  alone ; 
And  children  with  no  task 
Were  left  themselves  to  ask, 

Why    Death   this   father  took,    and   not   their 
own. 


On  all  the  shadow  falls. 
It  hushes  college  halls, 

It  consecrates  the  cabins  of  the  West ; 
The  f reedmen  loved  him  well ; 
Soldiers  his  praises  tell, 

The  rudest  boatman  is  too  sad  to  jest. 


From  rudest,  lowliest  ways 
To  Glory's  brightest  blaze 

He   passed,  and  threaded  all  hearts  with   his 

love  ; 

True  to  his  humblest  friend, 
True  to  life's  noblest  end, 

True  to  the  God  he  recognized  above. 

156 


INTEGER 


Not  in  his  youthful  pride, 
Nor  in  the  battle's  tide, 

Not  in  debate  when  Nations'  fates  were  cast ; 
But  in  this  gentle  sleep 
Which  he  to-day  doth  keep, 

He  won  his  greatest  victory  at  the  last. 

Like  the  One  Crucified, 
He  who  so  bravely  died 

Has  made  the  world  the  better  for  his  pain ; 
Surely  we  now  may  know 
Our  leader  was  laid  low 

To  lift  the  Nation  to  a  higher  plane. 

Still,  over  hills  and  dells, 
The  beautiful,  sad  bells 

Repeat  the  Nation's  sorrow  for  her  son ; 
But  he  doth  hear  the  chime 
Of  a  more  peaceful  clime 

Than  Mentor's  fields  or  quiet  Elberon. 

We  say  as  once  he  said  — 
Our  noble  ruler  dead  — 

"  The  Lord  still  reigns,  the  country  is  secure." 
There's  none  can  fill  his  place. 
Rule  Thou,  O  God  of  grace ! 

And  guide  us  on  to  days  more  bright  and  pure. 


157 


BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 

Representative    Sonnets 
by  American    Poets. 

With  an  Essay  on  the  Sonnet,  etc. 

BOSTON, 

1891. 

He  has  not  passed  by  any  single  notable  sonnet. 
The  essay  is  a  painstaking  and  valuable  monograph. 
—  New  York  Evening  Post. 

His  ear  and  judgment  are  alike  delicate  and  accu 
rate.  His  artistic  ideal  is  high  and  his  expression 
fortunate.  —  Boston  Literary  World. 


Wayside   Music. 

Lyrics,  Songs,  and  Sonnets. 

NEW  YORK, 

1893. 

He  touches  the  chords  of  common  life  with  a  sin 
cere  and  tender  stroke.  —  Syracuse  Standard. 

There  is  a  clear,  melodious  appreciation  of  verbal 
music,  an  ear  for  the  old-time  rhythmic  swing  of 
English  verse.  — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

His  poems  exhale  a  breath  of  that  nature  of  which 
humanity  is  itself  a  part.  Dignity  and  delicacy  are 
equally  maintained.  —  PhiladelpJiia  Evening  Bulletin. 

I58 


Publishers  of  The  Century  Magazine, 
Harper's  Monthly,  The  Outlook,  The 
Independent,  St.  Nicholas,  Youth's  Com 
panion,  Judge,  Frank  Leslie's  Monthly, 
New  York  Tribune,  Boston  Transcript, 
Brooklyn  Standard,  and  other  news 
papers,  will  please  accept  thanks  for 
courtesies  in  regard  to  reprint  of  many 
of  the  foregoing  poems. 


The  first  edition  of 
this  book  is  500  copies. 
Printed  and  bound  by 
L.  Barta  &  Co.,  Boston. 

159 


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